The Blackened Minds
by Evangeline Dixon
Summary: A South Park fanfic set in an alternate universe. In 1940's Germany each one of the four boys plays a certain role in World War 2, some good, some evil. Rated M for Death, scandal, infidelity, violence and revolution.
1. The Blackened Minds

**Get ready for a very dark story. There will be light but there will also be dark, there will be violence and probably sex. If you don't want to see your favorite characters dragged through a very tough time don't read! **

**I appreciate this will have mixed reviews and I welcome them :)**

**I don't own South Park (Though I wish I did)**

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_**April 9th 1942**_

**Kyle's POV**

The cold morning air swirled around my red hair, I spat white froth onto the ground and stared at the red phlegm the speckled it. Leaning against the wooden shack I was living in and staring at the brick wall that forced me to stay, I sighed and shivered slightly against the cold.

We lived separate to the rest of the Germans. We were Germans too, we had lived here all our lives but to everyone else we were Jewish or black or homosexual. The Nazi's moved us to this walled in prison a couple of days ago, I was living with the rest of the Jewish and Negro workers in a small house packed with beds, there was nothing else except the basic possessions we had brought. I walked back inside, pulling my coat around me, another red head sat on a bed close to the door. She had one leg propped up and the other stretched out, she was laid back staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"How's your leg?" I asked her. She looked up at me and smiled weakly, wincing as she tried to move.

"I can't stand Kyle," She whimpered, clearly terrified yet trying to hide it behind a sarcastic laugh.

"It's alright Red," I rushed to Rebecca's side, stopping her from straining herself anymore.

She used to be my neighbour, before the Nazi's pulled us from our homes and ransacked our possession. I remember she cried to me for hours when we were in holding because they had stolen her Grandmothers locket and that was really all she had. I promised to look after her when we got here, I wasn't doing a very good job.

Whilst working the other day she had dropped a wheelbarrow of bricks on her foot, we had dragged her out of that place straight away. Her ankle was fractured at the very least and her foot had been badly cut, she needed a doctor but a doctor wasn't going to come. If anybody found that Rebecca wasn't fit for work she would be exterminated immediately. So now we kept her in hiding.

"I can't work Kyle," She looked like she was about to cry but I knew Red, she wouldn't if she could help it.

"Stay under the bed and I'll bring you something when I can," I laid a hand on her brow, it was fiery.

"Token," I shouted to one of the two black men in our area, "Come help me move Rebecca,"

Together we lifted the grimacing girl and slid her gently under the bed.

We went to work.

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**Kenny's POV**

I watched from the sideline as Captain Cartman held a gun to a Jewish worker, the man had asked a question that didn't concern him, a careless mistake.

The Nazi party had promised new hope, new plans and a revolutions. Now I was trapped in a place that I didn't belong. I could do what I was asked but I never wanted to. I had lost people I once knew, I was loved, because they were Jewish or a different race or didn't agree with what was happening. Now they were nothing. Now, I was forced against them.

"Please sir, I didn't mean," The man moaned, tears burning tracks through the grime on his face.

I winced at the sight of Cartman making the man beg for his life, knowing full well he wasn't going to live. A lump formed in my throat as Cartman pulled the trigger and a silenced shot formed circular in the middle of the mans head. He slumped foreward and creased to the ground but it wasn't the man pleading for his life that Cartman had killed. It was an innocent bystander.

"McCormick," Cartman yelled and I stood to attention, "Deal with this filth,"

Cartman walked away with his whip clenched behind his back, a thick dark thing that ruined people. I wandered foreward, my face expressionless as I reached the man on his knees. I spared a glance to see if the Captain was looking, he was staring at me with a look of hatred for the Jew at my feet.

Aggressively I grabbed a handful of the man's greasy hair and began to beat him mercilessly, slamming my fist into his back and head, he grabbed at my legs and I kicked him off with my heavy boots, listening to the crunch of bone beneath my shoe.

The man lay crying at my feet, listening to the horrifying pleas for his wife and children. I let go of his hair and he dropped to the floor, weeping softly at his bruised body.

I retreated away but Cartman caught my arm, turning me towards him, his fat face invading my vision. Double chin spreading with his ghastly smile.

"You're not done yet McCormick," Cartman growled, grinning.

I smiled back wearily, trying to hide my contempt but I didn't want to look back. I didn't want to turn. I didn't ask for any of this. Yet still I took out the Luger from the long, buttoned up coat I was wearing. I coughed twice and adjusted my dark blue tie, smoothing my gelled back blonde hair and then replacing my cap on my head. Then I extended my arm behind me I shot the crying man in the head.

* * *

**Stan's POV**

"Stanley?" A voice cooed.

I woke up to the noise of a woman calling my name, sunlight crawled in and illuminated my eyes. I was in a bed, a bed with white linen sheets. I stretched lazily, like a cat and turned to look at the woman.

"Finally," She reached out and touched his face, "You're awake,"

Bebe was beautiful, her frizzy blonde her spilling over the pillow, blue eyes staring into mine. I smiled and kissed her on the forehead, she rolled from the bed and took with her the duvet to cover her naked body

I itched a scratch behind my ear, watching Bebe as she stared out the window of our apartment. I had to get up and write an article for the local newspaper, that was my job. However, when the hatred of the Jews began to become public the articles I was made to write became more and more heinous. I couldn't quit, if I lost my job I would lose the apartment and would soon be out of the streets, so I wrote the articles. But that's not what I had to write today.

"They're marching more people out today," She said matter of factly and I froze.

I rolled from the bed and pulled on a pair of trousers, flocking to the window. Sure enough even more Jews were being corralled into a walled exhibit like cattle. I was safe, since me and my girlfriend Bebe were Germans we were okay but a lot of our friends weren't. For every five Jews there was one Nazi soldier ushering them along with weaponry.

Stan couldn't help but realize how easy it would be for them to retaliate if they even the most basic of weapons.

"This is insane!" I yelled, my face growing red.

Throwing my hands up I turned from the window, knowing most of those people would die.

I felt Bebe wrap her arms around my waist, her cold cheek pressed against my back.

"It's not insane Stan, there's nothing we can do," She murmured against my back.

I wrapped my hands around hers and sighed deeply.

I loved Bebe but I knew she was turning a blind eye when she said there was nothing we could do and that sparked a rage inside me.

I wanted to do something and I knew that I could. I knew many people that had.

But they had died in the process.


	2. Stanley

**Longer? Shorter? In between? Feel free to PM me with any ideas or comments or just to say hi :)**

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"Baby, I've got to go," I turned towards Bebe who was pulling sheer stockings over her knee, her long blonde hair falling down over her face as she bent over.

"Already?" She moaned, moving from the stockings to a red lipstick, "Can't you wait a second?"

I sighed impatiently and crossed my arms over my chest, watching as she scrambled around in just her bra and stockings, red lipstick trailing across her face. I smirked, it reminded me of the first time we met.

I met Bebe when she was dancing in the cabaret. Well, she called it cabaret, she called it burlesque, but when my friend Leopold took me there on one of our nights off work, I saw a hell of a lot more of her than I had intended to see that evening.

She was beautiful, I could remember that much, swinging her body beneath two giant feathers as she attempted a strip tease, she was completely naked within minutes and the way those soldiers were grabbing for her made me sick to my stomach. When she made her way off of the dimly lit stage I had watched as she was approached by a large man, larger than me. I watched as he aggressively grabbed her. Sheepishly I stumbled over with the intention of talking the other guy away. Instead I opted for sweeping her over my shoulder and carrying her away.

She had hit and kick me with her tiny hands and insisted she could look after herself but I just laughed as I slung her into our booth, Leopold's mouth dropped.

I offered to buy her a drink and she graciously accepted, she wasn't earning much money then, in fact she didn't even have a bed to go back to, I discovered that after third drink which is why I offered to take her home. And she said yes.

After that we went out a lot together and she just ended up staying with me, before we knew it we were an item.

I love her now, I've loved her for a long time. She got a job as a waitress in a bar and makes her own money but I sometimes wonder if I hadn't offered to take her home and provide her with a place to sleep would she still be with me?

"I've really got to get to the office love," I collected my coat and placed my hat on my head, sweeping over to her and pecking her on the cheek.

We often walked to work together, but I was already late.

"Don't get into trouble!" She cried after me as I swung out of the door.

I jogged down the six flights of stairs to reach the bottom floor, tipping my hat to our landlord as I rushed out the door and into the street.

Bebe was referring to the caution I was given after trying to help a Jewish man. It was before they moved them all to the ghetto, he was old with whispers of black in his long gray beard and a hunch on his back.

A large, hulking Nazi Captain had been harassing him, the fat man beat the Jew with a stick until he was lying, breathless in the mud, his clothes stained.

"Where is your money?!" The Nazi kept screaming over and over, beating the man as people simply side stepped around the scene. "Covetous Jew!"

"I have none, please sir!" The old man begged, holding his tattered gloves in front of his face, "All I have is this locket, it was my mother's, please sir have mercy,"

Not surprisingly, the locket was retched from his neck and after a few more lashes with the stick the Nazi left the old man crying in the mud, by his appearance it seemed to be his only possession left.

I had witnessed the whole heinous scene and afterwards run towards the Nazi who was greedily eating a loaf of bread as he patrolled the street.

"How much for the locket?" I asked casually.

The huge beast snorted and spat wet crumbs over me, his upturned pig nose wrinkling in humor. He pulled off his helmet and revealed the golden locket stuffed inside, scratching his thin windows peak of brown hair in the process.

"315 Reichsmarks," The man replied, stuffing more bread into his mouth as he spoke.

I withdrew my brown leather wallet and paid the sum, taking the gold locket and walking away from the Nazi. I approached the prone old man and showed him what I had done. I probably would have gotten away with it if he wasn't so overwhelmed at the gesture. He jumped up with a new lease of life and began to hug me and cry and sing my praises all of which attracted the Nazi Captain.

After a severe beating I was left in the street, I came home to Bebe with a black eye and one hell of a story but she didn't seem happy at all.

"Why did you do that?!" She cried, holding ice wrapped in a towel to my eye, "You could have gotten killed!"

I squinted at her through my good eye, she just didn't understand. It's not that she's a selfish woman, she's just afraid, everyone is right now.

I entered the bustling streets, many business men pushed past me; their suits and ties and fedoras all blurring into one mess of blue and brown. So many of them clasped cigarettes between their lips as they chatted nonsensically into their phones that it was as if a thick cloud of smoke hung about wherever I went. I used to walk to work with Kyle Broflovski, however I hadn't seen him since all the Jews were moved to the ghettos or away on the trains. He was my best friend and I had no idea if he was alive or not, a lot of people just didn't seem to care but I really didn't see how anyone could let the murder of innocent people go by unnoticed.

After twenty minutes of walking I found myself outside a large, beautiful building, silhouetted against the overcast sky.

This was the newspaper production company where I worked, sighing I removed my hat and entered the building, my article about the rise in prices of soap would be going to press in a couple of hours. Most of my work was writing about the hatred of the Jews or rising or falling prices, that was all anyone cared about. It was a trivial and tedious job, not to mention demeaning but it paid the bills.

I sat down in a heap with my coat off, looking around for something to drink.

"Here," A blonde man said as he offered me a bottle of Fanta.

I took it from him and had a sip, the bubbles rushing up my nose and making me cough and splutter.

The blonde man laughed, smoothing his perfect hair as he took a seat next to me, a blue jumper covering his white shirt and navy tie. His blazer, coat and hat were neatly hung up by the door and I rose to hang mine as well.

"I never liked fizzy drinks," I complained.

Gregory laughed, his blue eyes shining. He always seemed like the most together person, Aryan, German, intelligent and hard working. He was the perfect German man, aside from the fact he wasn't a Nazi.

"Shouldn't we be somewhere more private," I asked nervously, my eyes darting around.

Gregory stood and ruffled my dark hair, I hated that, we were the same age.

"It's fine Stanley," He claimed, yawning loudly as he sat back down. "Have you got it?"

He was such a pompous bastard, I really did despise him.

Nodding, I provided him with a wad of paper. Calmly he browsed through them making appreciative noises as he bobbed his head with every page he flipped through.

"These are good Stan," He patronized me and I hated it.

Gregory's typically German looks and his typically German job and typically German attitude made him someone I wanted to truly one hundred per cent hate but since Gregory's perfect stereotype made him such an unlikely candidate for the leader of the rebellion against the Nazi's, which he was, I found I couldn't hate one of the only people who shared my view.

We had together started our own newspaper, sneaking in to use the printing press after hours (Gregory was a head publisher) we managed to send out a secretly public bulletin to anyone who might want to help us take down the Nazi's.

I wrote most of the articles, some documenting reasons why we should rebel, others saying how, sometimes I just did updates as to how everything was going.

The magazine had grown in size significantly since me and Gregory had started it, there were people out there who cared about this sort of thing and that validated every risk we took.

"There's just one person we need to get on board," Gregory murmured, folding the papers up and placing them in his pocket.

"Whose that?" I asked perplexed, I thought just me and Gregory would run this operation.

"His name is Christophe and unlike you and me, he can get guns,"


	3. Kyle

**Hi guys, had to bend some of the rules of history/Nazi army ranks to make this story work, apologies!**

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**Kyle's POV**

I kept my head down as we were marched through the barren streets. Cold wind whipped around my shoulders, all I was wearing was a white shirt and a red tweed waistcoat, hardly clothes for working.

The women were taken to work on a different section of demolishing buildings, the Nazi's didn't like to entertain the thought of us fraternizing with the opposite sex.

"Marsch!" The German at the first shrieked as we marched along.

There were men positioned all the way down the line, all carrying huge machine guns ready to destroy any man out of line. The soldier next to me had a blank look on his face, as if he didn't want to be there. His blonde hair was swept over to the left side of his head, kept neatly hidden under his peaked hat.

I was staring at him as he walked, I wondered why he was here, I wondered why he hated minorities so much. Brainwashed by a fucking psycho like Hitler no doubt, once a good guy.

"Stoppen!" The fat man at the front held up his hand and his soldiers came to a quick halt.

The man who was stood near me threw out a leather clad hand to stop me walking into the man in front of me, I hadn't heard the command to stop.

We made eye contact for a brief second before he turned away from me, dropping his hand to his side and placing his rifle to lean against his leg.

I heard the spine chilling sound of leather boots pacing the ground, the slow creak of the material as it rubbed together sent shivers up my neck. I stayed frozen with my hands pressed to my side, my eyes staring into the back of the man in front of me's head.

The fat man, I think his name was Cartman, strolled down the line. Humming a German song under his breath as he paced through the terrified prisoners.

Abruptly, I felt a hand on my arm, gripping into me as I was dragged from the line-up, crashing into the blonde soldier as I was placed before the Captain.

His brown eyes shone with a very real hatred, the leather, calf length coat he was wearing was pulled tight against his rolls of fat. Cartman was close enough that I could smell his stale breath as he breathed heavily, taking in everything from my red hair lying flat against my head to the holes in my scruffy boots.

"What song am I singing Jew?" He seethed.

I began to rack my brain for the answer, my throat felt like it was closing and slowly I suffocated on knowledge I didn't possess. My eyes widened and fell to the floor, searching every corner of my mind for the answer.

"Deutschland Erwache," I breathed, remembering the song about the extreme hatred of Jews.

Cartman struck me across the face. I didn't even flinch, this was nothing compared with the beating some men received.

"Deutschland Erwache, sir," Cartman corrected me, shoving his face next to mine as I avoided eye contact with him. He slapped me hard on the back and I stumbled foreward. "Come, sing with me!"

I flushed red as I glanced at the others in the line, not one person was looking at me. They were all trying so hard to blend in with one another, not to be noticed.

"Deutschland erwache aus deinem bösen Traum!" Cartman had begun to sing in a whiny voice that I presumed he thought sounded like the triumphant bellow of a Nazi man.

He paused, allowing me time to join in.

"Gib fremden Juden in deinem Reich nicht Raum." I followed him in song.

Cartman looked down at his feet and then back up at me, a small smile on his face, then he began to laugh. He grabbed me by my waistcoat and pulled me to him until our noses were brushing.

"Fancy that, a Jew singing about how they have no place here,"

He flung me violently to the ground, my hands pushing into the moist mud as I stopped myself from being humiliated, I felt Cartman's boot on my back, lightly at first. He was determined to degrade every inch of me, I tried to resist as the boot increased its pressure, sliding in the mud as I tried to keep my dignity. With a stomp from Cartman my arms buckled and I fell face first into the filth.

"Sargent Major," Cartman nudged the blonde man next to me, and he stood to attention, saluting Cartman eagerly, "I don't want to get blood on my hands," Cartman flexed his gloved hands, making his point redundant.

"Yes sir," The Sargent replied.

"Marsch!" Cartman yelled and the line began moving again.

I turned onto my back, sliding away in the mud as the man advanced on me, his black boots flecking my face with even more mud. Reaching me, he extended his arm and grabbed my shirt, hoisting me towards him, his left hand clutching my shirt and his right balled into a fist and drawn behind his head ready to strike.

He wasn't any older than me, twenty, twenty one? With shining blue eyes that were cutting into my green ones, they matched the clouds that were rolling in around us. Rain began to drop from the sky, speckling my face and making the mud run, he breathed heavily through clenched teeth and I cowered before him. I tried to be ready for the beating, to look into the face of my attacker and smile, but it was always scary.

"I'm going to hit you once," The man said lowly, through his teeth, "I'm going to give you a black eye to prove I hit you and you are going to cry out, got that?" His eyes darted around at the fading figures of the Nazi's.

I nodded quickly and the man smashed into my face, the pain radiated through my head in waves, surpassing my brain until it felt like it left my body. I shouted out into the night, louder and with more anguish then I usually would. Most of the time I would try my hardest to absorb the pain, not let them know that they were torturing me really.

Then the man's hand came down again but this time he let go of my shirt and made a cup with his other hand, hitting his cupped hand instead of me. I watched him perplexed and he kneed my side.

"Yell out," He mumbled and so I did. I kicked my legs and thrashed around.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched as Cartman stared intensely at us, a look of pleasure on his face.

The man pretending to beat me stopped abruptly, I saw a glint of metal and was horrified to see he had produced a small pocket knife. I scrambled away in horror but he grabbed my face with his fingers, holding it in place. I thought he was going to slit my throat right there.

Instead he moved it to my lip and nicked the tender flesh, causing a line of blood to leak away and down my muddy chin.

Then, he put it away and stood up, turning and leaving me in a heap covered in filth. He joined the rest of the line.

"McCormick," Cartman growled, narrowing his eyes at the slender and more together man, "Jews are like cockroaches, if you don't obliterate them, they just keep coming back."

This 'McCormick' person's eyes flashed as he nervously looked back to me, panting ,prone on the ground. I had seen this man kill my friends on command, he wasn't above it.

"He begged for me to kill him Captain," The blonde man lied, "I thought it would be worse to leave him alive,"

There was a moment of intense silence, where the only sound that could be heard was the splashing of rain as the pools the raindrops had created began to grow in size. My life was on the line once again and I was frozen.

Cartman began to laugh, big thumping, mocking, chortles of laughter that echoed off of the decimated buildings, he clasped the Sergeant Major on the back and with a last look at me they walked away.

I fell back into the mud and tried not to convulse with fear and relief and hatred for Captain-fucking-Cartman.

* * *

It took longer for me to get back to our hut, when I entered most people were asleep. Including Red.

She was back on top of the bed and another woman was by her side, mopping her brow with a damp, balled up shirt. The girl had long black hair, very pretty. Her name was Wendy and she was in here for being a 'gypsy', she had bonded with Red since they were some of the only women in a group of men. Women stuck together in times like that.

I had gotten closer to Wendy at night times, we didn't really sleep very well and spent a lot of our time chatting. She was a very intelligent, head strong woman who had strong opinions that I very much liked to challenge in the small hours of the morning when everyone else was resting.

"Kyle," She said, her eyes sad as she looked back at Red's sleeping figure, "She's not getting better,"

I walked over, stripping off my waistcoat and kneeling by the girl's bedside. I lifted a hand and felt her brow, it was sweltering hot and clammy, she began to thrash around in her sleep.

"Shh, it's okay Red," Wendy cooed, stroking her tangled hair.

"There's got to be something, a book about medicine, anyone who knows anything!" I knew if we could find the right things we could fix her, I knew people smuggled in equipment maybe if we found out what was wrong we could help.

I felt Wendy's arm on my shoulder. I shrugged her off, I didn't need a comforting hand right now, I need some fucking answers.

"Go to bed Kyle," Wendy told me and I nodded slowly.

Tentatively I took off my shirt, what was once white was now a dirt brown, I sighed, exhausted.

"You can borrow one of Token's, just go to sleep now," She said, taking my shirt from me and watching as I got under the scratching covers.

I didn't sleep though, I spent the night listening to Wendy sing songs to Red and I listened to Rebecca's labored breathing and Wendy's cracking voice and then when Wendy finally fell asleep at Red's bedside I listened to the sound of rain ricocheting off the roof and dripping in through the gaps in the wood; I listened to the sickly girl in the bed next to me whimpering in her deep sleep.


	4. Eric

**A couple more followers this week! Thank you Smarvin and Crazycolors098 for the follows, hope you enjoy!**

**Also, AKA 24601, try and find the Les Mis reference. I dare you. (Also thanks for reading, you're fab.)**

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**Cartman's POV**

Filth.

Every single, worthless, piece of shit, stealing oxygen from me and my men. They tried to silence us, they tried take our money and jobs and fix us like a dog on a leash, they tried to take over our country, a place where they didn't belong.

I was here to eradicate them, under the glorious rule of our Fuhrer I felt I could do anything, and that was what I wanted to instill in my men. We were Gods, nothing was beyond us and nothing ever would be. We became above the law the moment we donned the Nazi uniform and anybody who disagreed could listen to the sweet sounds of my pistol.

It was so long since it all began, I remember being empowered by His speeches, the passion and fury in His voice, I felt the need to follow him, the realization that he was just like me, that someday I could be there. All I needed were followers, of course I would never want to be so great that my existence question my Fuhrer's rule, but great would do.

The torture I exhibited everyday was not only punishment, it was sport, it was the tingling I felt in my fingers every time I hit another Jew. I would do everything in my power to make it so my men felt the same, many of them were still terrified at the prospect of killing another person. It was my job to remind them that the Jews were not people; nor were the faggots or the gypsies or blacks they were simply parasites, latched on to the German people.

I sat around in the barracks after having locked the scum up for the night. The boys were sat in another room, drinking and laughing about what they had done today. They weren't meant to be drinking and most of the time I loved to pull them up on it, not that I really cared, I liked to drink but I found it exhilarating to exert my power over them.

Their conversations continuously amused me and I lifted myself from the chair, trudging to stand outside the door so I could listen closely through the dark oak.

"I hope one of them fucks up tomorrow, I'm getting an itchy trigger finger," Someone insisted and I heard the squeak of a wooden chair on an older wooden floor.

"I just want to kill one slowly, feel them die," Another voice murmured, I recognized it as a man called David, well, his real name was Damien but the boys preferred David...more colloquial.

"Itchy trigger finger?" Another pitched in, brushing over David's comment, I could see through the gap it was a black haired man, good looking. "I'm getting blue balls,"

I smirked lightly and carried on watching, Kenneth McCormick sat in the back, nursing a beer,his head perking up at the mention of sex.

"I've got a Jew I've already had a go at but she's fair game if you want a pop," I heard another voice laugh.

My blood began to boil in my veins.

"Really? Where?" The black haired boy demanded, slightly eagerly. It made my stomach turn.

"In the back," The man said and the raven haired man rose from his chair, Kenneth pulled on his collar and yanked him back into his seat.

"This is too much," He growled, still seated but leaning over at the man who made the suggestion.

He was right, it was 'too much'.

I stormed in, causing each man to swipe his bottle off the table and jam it in between his thighs or under his chair. The black haired man abruptly glared at McCormick and then gazed, unemotive at me.

But it wasn't him I was bothered with.

I tore to the back of the room, my boots making the grey, wooden floor, cry out in misery, I found myself at the back of the small room, throwing the double doors at the end.

I saw the pitiful creature curled in a corner, hair dark and falling in front of it's widened eyes, a thin sheen of light illuminated it's quaking figure and pale, exposed legs. It whimpered softly and mewled through hands that were covering it's obscured face.

Withdrawing my pistol I fired into her skull, her head jolted backwards and went slack, a trail of blood running between her eyes, I heard a chair pushed back behind me. I left the doors open.

I strolled back into the room with a smile, watching as the men crowded around the small oak table, except McCormick who had stood up, his hand clenched around his beer bottle.

"She's not in the back anymore," I sang to the troops, who were staring at me.

Carefully, I placed one foot in front of the other until I reached the table. I slammed my hands down with a bang, shaking the thing on four wobbly legs, the men jerked away and I stared at them intensely. My jaw felt locked in place as I clenched it and a large blue vein ran up my neck like an estuary. I breathed heavily as everyone bar McCormick avoided my eyesight, I left my hand clutching the pistol on the table.

They just don't learn.

"I have told you, stick your dicks in anything," I growled, "But do not stick your dicks in that CARRION!"

The men were silent and the man with the coal black hair nudged Kenneth who was next to him, signaling for him to hide his drink. I laughed again, clasping the boy on the back as my face changed into a bright smile. I shoved my pistol back into my pocket and clapped my hands together, snickering.

"You, what is your name?" I asked. He looked back, his mouth gaping wide like a goldfish.

"Craig sir," He mumbled, looking confused as I yanked the beer from between his legs and placed it on the table, it sloshed messily over the table.

"I don't care when you drink my boys," I tried to associate with them, "I like to be drunk just as much as you, just so long as you're not drunk on the job,"

I swigged from the bottle, it tasted like weak ethanol mixed with piss, I fought the urge to spit it out.

I looked around, not one man would look me in the eyes aside from Kenneth, who took a daring glug from his bottle, draining it then slamming it back down.

"Drink up boys, you're here until you die!" I roared with laughter, tossing the bottle onto the table where it fell over with a clink. Rolling down the slightly off center table it dropped onto the floor, foam and liquid leaked out of it like a dying cow with it's throat cut.

I chuckled, walking from the room.

"Someone might want to sort her out," I pointed a finger towards the back room, "I just hope I'm not dealing with any necrophiliacs," I winked at the Craig boy and he smiled back a trembling tight lipped grin.

My smile fell and I turned from the men.

"Sieg Heil!" I cried, saluting our Fuhrer and leading my boys in the chant.

I listened to the chanting as it faded, returning to my position outside of the now silent room.

There was a hatred that resonated from my very core, even when I was young I hated the rats that had invaded my life, that had made Germany so unpure but I remembered the death of my mother the most.

I was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen and out walking with my mother. A clear April morning was new born before us and she had promised a trip to the cinema. I was excited.

We had been crossing the road, when a group of Jews, running from the Police or protesting about something, came our way. My mother had made me stay behind her. I heard gunshots from the police and gunshots from the Jews. Everyone was shooting and I was hiding like a coward behind my mother who was pushing us backwards and trying to protect me.

I was crying like a baby even before she was shot, I stopped crying the moment her back opened up and splattered my face with maroon blood. She went limp, falling on top of me, her brown, mousy hair peaking out from behind her scarf. Her eyes were closed and her rouge lips were slightly parted, a large red spot was spreading rapidly across her white dress like a pair of angels wings; I was completely silent.

The shooting was still happening but I only knew that when I was told afterwards, to me, everything had stopped.

The second a man threw me over his shoulder and caried me away my mind focused once more and I began to wail. Dry racking sobs accompanied by cires for my mother were soon silenced by the uniformed man shaking me.

"Be quiet," He demanded, "Stop your tears boy!"

And I did, I forgot how to cry, my mother never had talked to me like that before.

"Who are you," I growled, wanting to know the name of my savior but also wanting to know if he had the authority to talk to me that way.

He stood up, proud and tall and handsome and gave a salute.

"I am a Nazi," He had stated.

It was from then on I knew what I was to become and I fought everyday to become it.

It would not be long before we saw every German man and boy wanting to join the Nazi's, every woman would want to bear our children and every child would admire us; still things puzzled me.

The men and their reluctancy to kill, it was as if they didn't see the Jew's ability to destroy, as if they didn't seem everybody who did not comply as a target. They had to be ruthless, the had to be cold because I sense a weakness if they weren't and if I could sense it. The Jews certainly could.

I could also not understand why the men would want to bed the Jews. The gypsies maybe I could see, even the hybrids I could allow but the Jews were filth, disgusting pestilence ridden with disease.

I decided that one day soon I would take them to a brothel.

And if they were still complaining of 'blue balls' after that? Well, they were too ill for work, and if they were too ill for work the only answer was a mercy kill which I was more than willing to dish out.


	5. Kenneth

**Just FYI Clyde has been changed to Craig **

* * *

**Kenneth's POV**

I sat on my bed. A lowly room big enough to fit two people, one grimy window and no lighting.

I sar in the dark, swigging down another beer much to the man sat across from me's disgust.

This was not what I signed up for, but then again, neither was the meaningless slaughter of the Jews.

Craig was on the bed opposite mine, lying stretched out with his ankles crossed and his arms behind his head. He was wearing a dark blue sleep shirt and matching trousers.

I didn't sleep much anymore, I found it hard, I was restless throughout the night and usually woke up yelling or being shaken awake by an irritable Craig.

"Go to fucking sleep McCormick," Craig sighed, turning onto his side, "You've drunk enough beer to kill a kid, you must be getting drowsy,"

We'd been trying different methods to get my to sleep soundly for weeks now but nothing was working. Not counting sheep or having the window open, not someone talking or a glass of water, even the time Craig knocked me out I had woken up in a cold sweat screaming or help.

"Not even a little," I groaned, Craig had his eyes shut. "Craig?" I asked.

He perked up, his long dark eyelashes fluttering in annoyance. He flicked a finger over his large roman nose and propped himself up on one arm.

"What do you want Ken?" He growled.

I lined the fifth beer bottle up amongst the others on the floor, It took a lot to get me drunk.

"Do you enjoy the killing, like the others?" I mumbled, it was a tricky question to ask and it could possibly get me killed. It didn't help that Craig didn't particularly like me.

He shrugged, lying flat on his back again and staring at the ceiling. "It's okay I guess,"

I shook my head slightly in annoyance, determined it wasn't just me who thought the violence was ruthless, brutal and animalistic.

"It's just us in this room Craig, don't fucking lie to me," I got up from my bed and stood over his.

He glanced at me before turning back to the ceiling, as if there was something interesting up there with the cracks.

He shrugged again.

"I guess it's okay when it's the Jews and the faggots," He rolled away from me, "It's weirder when it's just random people, kids and stuff,"

I began to shake, keeping my voice to a seething whisper to stop myself from screaming.

"Says the guy who as all up for raping a girl today,"

Craig shrugged for a third time.

"That's different, I had blue balls," Craig told me, jerking with laughter. "Plus she was Jew so it doesn't count as rape,"

I lifted my foot and rammed it hard into the small of Craig's back. The raven haired man rolled from the tiny bed and onto the floor with an 'ooft.'

"Fuck you McCormick, we can't all be saints," He muttered as he rubbed his back.

I paced the floor of our room, determined to draw some kind of moral conclusion from Craig. Rage was swelling inside me with every wrong answer he gave.

"What's the problem Ken?" Craig rose to his feet, "You've killed people too,"

I stopped and swiveled round.

"I never enjoyed it though!" I used my arms to punctuate my point, my face twisted into a nasty snarl.

"I really don't care enough to think about it," Craig admitted, crawling back onto his bed.

"You should," I mumbled, reclining on my own cramped cot.

"Go to sleep Ken, you're pacing's making me nervous," Craig's reply was slightly shaky but apart from that I could detect no real emotion in his voice.

"You've talked to them Craig, you know them," I spat, I hated him then.

Craig turned over so his face was pressed into his pillow, I wasn't going to exert a response from him now.

"We don't know them Ken," His muffled voice sounded deep and deadpan as I strained to hear it, "We barely know ourselves,"

My eyebrows knitted together. I had known Craig since we met aged ten and this was by far the deepest thing he had ever said. It wasn't every day that he revealed something personal, it wasn't every day he let his emotions show.

That's why this was all so easy for him, he was emotionally unattached.

I used to have gay friends, Jewish and Polish and Romanian friends who I was close to.

The only thing remotely close to a 'friend' Craig had was me. That was the reason he could kill them all, because he saw them as empty, they weren't living.

Craig couldn't be empathetic because he never got close enough to someone he could empathize with.

I watched as he huffed through the pillow, he wanted me to think he was asleep. So I pretended I thought he was.

I crawled under the thin sheet in just a pair of polyester trousers, light orange with white stripes, faded.

I didn't try and sleep, I knew it would be pointless. Instead I stared up at the barren ceiling, trying to see what Craig was so interested in up there.

"Stop trying to be a fucking martyr Kenny," Craig's muffled voice startled me, "It won't work., you've got no chance, why throw your life away?" He mumbled some more and now I was truly confused as to whether he was sleeping or not.

I sat up and glanced over, he was sitting upright and staring at me with blue, tired eyes. One knee bent that he was leaning on.

"If you keep this shit up Cartman will kill you," His brutal honesty shocked me and then he fell down and went to sleep. For real this time.

* * *

The next day I was placed with the women, I hated overseeing the women, they cried more and the guys were able to humiliate them a hell of a lot easier then it was the men.

There was one girl, a black haired girl, who took everything that the men threw at her. She went through day after day of cat calls, grabbing, hitting, slapping and other generally degrading acts.

She'd been spat on and kicked to the ground but she was never afraid to fight back. Usually Cartman stayed with the men so if anyone ever tried to kill her...or worse, I stepped in and put a stop to it.

I wasn't able to stop them messing with her, that would be too suspicious, but I was able to save her life on many an occasion when she'd bitten a man or thrown a punch their way.

They even cut her hair, they held her down and used a blunt knife to shave away her beautiful long hair until it was up to her ears and she just sat there and let them, much to their displeasure.

I watched her now as she lugged bricks, her hair had begun to grow back now, down to her shoulders.

She wiped sweat from her grimy forehead and carried on heaving the workload.

I looked around at the other women, all silent with omnipresent fear.

The guards didn't take a register anymore, they were convinced that that had instilled enough fear into their victims to ensure they would turn up every day.

I knew something was wrong, I counted the girls and realized there was one short. I could faintly recall her, she had hair the color of a ripe tomato but that was all I could grasp.

I wondered if she was dead, had they killed her? I was rarely in with the women so it was highly possible that she had made a mistake and the guards wanted some fun.

I shuddered at the thought and prayed that it was just my imagination.

Making my way through the rubble covering my feet I fought over to Wendy who was dumping bricks into a corner.

"You," I spoke loudly but not loud enough for the others to hear me, if I was lucky they would just assume I was berating her for something work related, "Hey you,"

She heard me, I saw her figure as she exhaled, slowly she turned, glaring at me with one eyebrow raised.

She had some balls this girl.

"Where's your friend?" I asked.

She looked confused and turned to retrieve her wheel barrow.

"I don't know who your talking about," She brushed passed me and I grabbed hold of her arm to stop her.

"The girl, with red hair," I struggled with her name, "Did they kill her?"

"Why do you care?" The gypsy snapped back, from her reaction I assumed her friend wasn't dead.

"Where is she," I shook the woman gently and she attempted to pull away. I released her arm.

"I don't know," She sneered and walked away from me.

I followed her as she tried to shake me, walking side by side with her. As she turned, I cut her off.

"You do know," My face turned cold as I took a step towards her, "And I suggest you tell me before one of the other men notices her absence,"

The brief panic on her face told me I was right, she did know.

I knew she recognized me, I had saved her, stopped a man with a gun pressed to her temple moments before he pulled the trigger. She had to remember that.

She hadn't tried to hit me yet and that was a good sign. Her eyes darted around the work space, I could tell she was afraid, her hands were trembling slightly as she fought to keep up her facade.

Agitated, and losing time, I looked around too. Catching the eye of Craig, who was stood with his rifle pressed to his chest. He raised an unenthusiastic eyebrow at me and nodded towards the girl, miming lifting his rifle and blowing her head off.

I grabbed the girl's arm again and she seemed to look afraid but this was my way of telling Craig to back the fuck off.

"What's your name?" I asked the girl, dropping her arm, my hand had left red marks.

"Wendy," She replied, rubbing her arm and shuddering.

"Where's your friend Wendy," I tried to draw the answer out of her but she just shook her head and shrugged, she was a bad actress.

I began to retreat from the futile conversations.

"You've only got so long before_ they_ realize...and then they'll kill you all," I grunted.

I watched as she tried to stay neutral but she emitted a tiny gasp and turned to continue work before the tears started to fall.


	6. Christophe

**Stanley's POV**

"Why can't we just meet this Christophe in the building," I asked, pulling my gray woolen coat around my shoulders as me and Gregory made our way through the busy streets. Sidestepping beggars and men hell bent on their missions to work, chattering into phones. Avoiding women with prams and shop keepers avid on selling.

A week after Christophe had been mentioned to me we had finally gotten into contact with him and arranged to meet.

Gregory stopped and turned to face me, a bouncy curl escaped the gel that slicked down his hair and swiftly smoothed it back into place while glaring at me sternly, a mix between scolding a child and annoyance at it's stupidity.

"We can't just meet him Stan," He leaned in closer and lowered his voice, "He's a well known for trying to ignite the revolution we want,"

I raised an eyebrow and we continued to walk, ignoring the flecks of rain that began to speckle the pavement.

"He tried to start something in Paris when he was young, he fled the country when it all went to shit, ended up here,"

Gregory looked to me and shrugged at my confusion. Why would he ever choose to come here?

"Right under the enemies noses," Gregory read my mind, "Safest place to be apparently,"

"Not safe enough," I retorted as we passed the wall the ran along side the ghetto. I could hear the whimper of people and the shouts of German guards as we passed, the sound of work being done and people despising their lives, wishing to be dead. Gregory hurried me along.

"Exactly how old was he when he tried this stunt in Paris?"

"Sixteen I think," Gregory said the extreme statistic as if it was nothing.

I however, had stopped to get my breath back, having to jog up to Greg to catch him.

"And why should we trust him," I asked worried.

"Because we don't have a choice," Gregory was honest, "We need to fight and he's the only man I know who can get weapons,"

"How'd he get them?" I was wary of this newcomer but then again I was wary of everyone.

Gregory pushed passed the women talking amicably in the street, stopping briefly to apologize when one of the women muttered something vulgar under her breath. A kiss to the hand and everything was forgotten, Gregory had that effect of people, ever the gentleman.

"I don't know how, I think he was a soldier, deserted at some point. Must be quite a sneaky bastard to get all those guns in though."

I nodded in agreement, trailing after Gregory even as I fought to stand side by side with him.

Finally, we arrived. Gregory had led me to an old abandoned block of flats, probably used to house Jews, that's why it was empty.

The white paint was peeling to reveal crumbling stone and the spiral staircase in the left hand corner looked hazardous.

"Where is he?" I asked, trying to look around at the dirt covered windows to spot some sign of movement. There were flats to the north, east and west side, all identical.

"Let's find out," Gregory took the lead in trying the steps. I didn't mind him taking the lead then, with any luck the cocky prick would fall through them and break his neck.

He didn't.

He climbed them with an elegance and ease that only someone with hair that shiny could possess.

I growled to myself as I ascended the stairs after him.

We searched in every window until we were at the end of the east side, one floor up, looking out on a balcony overlooking the rest of Germany.

"Psst," We heard from the opposite side.

I glanced round and saw as flat door opened a crack, a sharp, upturned nose peaked out of it.

"Gregory and Stanley?" It slurred in a french accent, below it, the nose of a gun peaked out as well.

I took a couple steps back at the sight of the gun but Gregory just pressed on. He was the prettiest boy on the police force but he could still kick the shit out of someone if he needed to.

Even now that he had quit to become a journalist he still retained his fighting knowledge as well as the ability to inspire hundreds.

Not me though.

"Put the gun down Christophe," Gregory reached out a hand and ripped the door open to reveal a scrawny boy with dark, relentless hair. His skinny frame and scraggy, unkempt appearance made him seem younger than me but the deep, permanent bags under his eyes and the cigarette hanging from his clenched lips told me he was older.

"Fuck you," He growled, sheathing the weapon in the pocket of his trousers.

He was wearing a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up and a tan waistcoat smeared with dirt, dark brown trousers with a thick belt and army boots.

He spat the burnt out cigarette onto the ground at my feet then walked back into the room.

I wasn't sure if this was an invitation in but Gregory decided it was.

"We need your help," I began to say, stepping ahead of Gregory.

He grabbed me, shoving a grimy palm over my mouth, I muffled in protest.

"Shut your fucking mouth," The man twitched before releasing me. Gregory smirked behind me. "I know what you want,"

"So will be help me?" Gregory asked, glancing from Christophe to me, "Us," He corrected and I nodded slightly.

Christophe sat down cress legged on the floor of the empty apartment, he withdrew a small hunting knife and some kind of stone and began sharpening the blade. I winced at the sound of the steel on the stone, it's eerie squeak went through me. Christophe smirked and then pointed the knife at me.

"This one will die," He stated causing my eyes to dart over to Gregory who shrugged and leaned against a wall, "You all might, they all did in Paris,"

"We don't care Christophe," I told him sincerely, edging slowly closer.

"Call me Mole," He caught on to my puzzled face that I was trying so desperately to hide, "I like to dig," He explained, nudging his head towards a blunt and chipped shovel that was behind the door.

He rose to his feet, sliding his knife back into one of his belt loops then he withdrew another cigarette and carefully lit it with a match kept behind his ear. He inhaled and twisted a train of smoke my way, I fought the desperate need to cough.

I had never been good with cigarettes, or alcohol, or danger. Bebe thought it was endearing and sweet, I thought it was emasculating...

"I'll need somewhere to stay," He drawled.

Greg snapped his head from side to side, his eyes wide., indicating that he would never want Christophe staying within twenty miles of his home, let alone in it.

"Then I'll be able to get some of the papers out today, get some more people on board with us,"

I agreed, I wanted this operation to speed up but that would mean I would have to tell Bebe and I was damn sure she wasn't going to take it very well.

"You can stay with Stan," Gregory grinned at me. That man really wasn't doing himself many favours.

"Great, I'm stuck with the pussy," Mole grumbled, shoving his trivial and violent belongings into a small, worn back pack.

"Have you been living here?" I queried, watching as he swiped some canned food off of the floor and shoved it into his bag.

He narrowed his eyes at me and I assumed that was code for 'yes but don't you dare talk about it.'

"So what do you say kid," He sidled up to me, his face close enough for me to see the stumble that covered his chin, the creases in his sleep deprived eyes and cracks on his pale and snarling lips, "Are we shacking up?"

I didn't have the heart to refuse him.

Plus he was stood in front of me with a lit and smoking cigarette, a scar from a broken nose, a knife in his belt, a gun in his pocket and scabs on his knuckles from fighting, the splits were fresh.

"You don't have any dogs do you?" Mole grinned through a mouthful of smoke, "I fucking hate dogs,"

"I don't," I replied, trying to figure out how I was going to tell Bebe, Christophe eased off.

As Christophe disappeared to collect the rest of his belongings Gregory came up to me.

"You dick Greg," I hissed, watching him smirk, annoyingly amused.

"Don't screw this up Stanley, he's our only hope," It was the truth and at that moment I admired Gregory.

Even thought he was selfish sometimes and arrogant he really did care about the people and he was doing this for the right reasons, it made him bearable to work with.

"What about Bebe?" Gregory didn't know her that well but he knew that we couldn't risk revealing our secret.

"Tell her he's a friend, a cousin, whatever,"

Just then, Christophe showed up behind us, brandishing two pistols.

"Here, you'll need these," He insisted and Gregory immediately took one and dropped it into his bag.

I was slightly more wary, taking one from Christophe and feeling the weight of a weapon in my hand for the first time. It felt wrong, it felt criminal but by the end of all this I suppose that's what I would be. I stroked my thumb across the cold steep, the dull reflection mimicking me.

Suddenly the gun was taken from me and so was the feeling of power. Christophe showed me how to work it, and then slid it into the inside pocket of my coat.

"Keep it there," He pressed, taking a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes dropping closed as the smoke rushed in to fill his lungs, when he opened them I was still waiting for him to impart more wisdom onto me, "If it's seem, you'll get us all killed."

He picked up his bag and swung it lazily over his shoulder, he moved to the door and opened it, looking around at the outside world with an agitation in his eyes. Then he slipped from the door.

I shrugged and moved to follow him

"Well done Gregory," I bit at him, "He's fucking crazy,"

Then I followed Christophe out of the flat, he was already down the stairs and way out onto the bustling streets. I hurried to reach him, all the way thinking of what I would say to Bebe when I brought this man home.


	7. Red

**Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my strange writings, any reviews are greatly appreciated. Please don't be afraid to point out any historical inaccuracies! Unless it's something like "Kenny isn't a German name." **

**If you do that I am not responsible for your injuries.**

* * *

**Kyle's POV**

The smell in the house was revolting, like a rotting animal that had been left in the heat for days. That's essentially what Red's foot had become, a mass of dead tissue had formed around the open fracture, the dead skin was accompanied by a web of green stretching across it and thick yellow pus discharging more the wound. The bone itself protruded from her ankle, completely cut off from its other half. A jagged, bloody spike surrounded by black.

I covered my mouth as I approached Red's bed, Token sat by her, holding one of her clammy hands. The girl was laid on the bed, her body shivering violently but I could see beads of sweat rolling down her forehead.

Wendy spotted me and walked quickly towards me, her hand covering her mouth and nose, soon the stench of death would be unbearable.

I wondered if Red knew what was happening to her.

"Kyle," Wendy looked at me with shining eyes, her hope had emptied; I placed my hand on her shoulder. She was quite a bit smaller than me, it was my sparrow like legs that gave me the length. I didn't look tall and authoritative, I look disproportioned and gangly.

"I know what's wrong," I told her but she jerked her body away and pulled me from Red's bedside.

"Everybody knows what's wrong," She hissed at me "And we all know we can't help her,"

"That's not true," I whispered back, "We just need outside help,"

Wendy threw her hands up in defeat, rolling her eyes.

"And when's that going to come Kyle?" She spat, her eyes glowing with despair, "The guards already know she's missing,"

I took a step across the dusty floorboards towards Wendy.

"What do you mean they know?" I grabbed her wrist, angry that she hadn't told me before.

"One of the men, he came up to me today, asked me where Rebecca was,"

I was silent for some time. Staring at Wendy and attempting to think of something to do about it.

"Shit," Was all I could say.

"Shit? That's all you have to say? Shit?!" Wendy barked, people began to turn their heads.

"Wendy calm down, we'll figure it out!" This was not how you get Wendy to calm down.

"How dare you tell me to calm down Kyle!" She yelled, advancing on me.

I could feel colour rush to my freckled cheeks as stumbled away from her until my back was against the door.

She stopped however, before she reached me when Red let out an ungodly moan of pain.

"Red?" Wendy rushed to her side to watch the rise and fall of the girls chest to match her erratic breathing,

"We need to move her again, before they come and lock us up for the night," I sighed, praying that we moved her, her foot would stay attached to her ankle.

I grabbed her arms and Token grabbed her thighs; together we slid her under the bed, she barely stirred until we tried to move away

She was groaning loudly in delirious pain and we knew if any Nazi came in we were fucked. She just didn't want to be alone.

"Hang on Red," I placed a dry kiss on her hand before standing up.

Wendy stood watching me, she was angry at me and I knew it but there was nothing I could do. Wendy knew that unless we could get the supplies necessary to treat Red's gangrene she was going to die and right now, it seemed impossible. Wendy wanted someone to blame for it, wanted to take her frustration out on someone and I guess that someone was me.

I didn't really think it was fair, shouldn't she be blaming someone like God or the Nazis or, you know, Hitler?

I sat on Red's bed, the bed closest to the door and waited for the familiar sound of a lock clicking and the jovial sing song of a Nazi officer.

Running a hand through the mess that was my bright hair, I turned to Wendy who was writing her diary.

"It's meant to rain tomorrow," She looked up at me, obviously only half listening, "Maybe if we fill a bucket we can have a bath,"

She uttered a strained laugh and then went back to writing and I went back to listening.

I had always been the intelligent one, even now trapped in this place I spent most of my time reading things, anything. Before, I had to read to get ahead, I was naturally brighter then most kids but I always liked the feeling of working to accomplish of something, I hated the people who had their lives handed to them on a plate. Now, I would read to keep Red alive, I would develop my knowledge so I could stand a chance at helping someone I cared about. Things sure as hell weren't going to be handed to me on a plate, not now, not ever.

Suddenly the door swung open, letting the bitter howl of the wind in as it collided with the the wall.

I jumped from the bed, staring at the figure in the doorway. It was the man who beat me the other day, or rather didn't beat me.

He walked purposely through the door, tearing off his black leather gloves and hat, he threw them on my bed and began to unbutton his calf length coat.

Everyone around, stared, open mouth at the stranger. I glanced deftly towards my bed, letting my eyes trail down from the gloves to the girl underneath.

Slowly, while the man struggled with his coat I brought my finger to my lips, signaling for Red to suppress her pain, if only for a while.

When the man eventually shook the coat from his shoulders he straightened up, adjusting his tie as he looked around at the frightened and trembling faces of the Jews.

"Where is she?" He asked once.

No one replied.

Slowly he turned and walked down the length of the room, his boots stamping down on the floorboards as he moved easily down the room. He stopped and turned, facing someone.

"Wendy?" He asked, and sheepishly she came foreward, "Where is she?"

I watched as the man pulled out a little silver pistol, it looked like the kind of gun made for a child.

He loaded a bullet into the chamber calmy, he had clearly had enough..

"Where is she," He asked again, the weapon hanging dangerously by his side.

I rushed foreward to dive in front of Wendy, shielding her.

The man in front of me stared, his face was become red and his frustration was beginning to show.

"Where is the girl?!" He shouted, his jaw clenched as he waved the weapon.

I winced slightly as he brandished the gun but I would not crack, I was defiant.

Abruptly, he stopped.

Narrowing his eyes as he took in my bright hair and deep green eyes, devoid of any emotion but sadness.

"Don't I know you...?" He asked and I nodded.

"You saved my life," I understood now, I wasn't afraid, I was overjoyed.

He perked up then, a smile illuminating her handsome face. He sheathed the weapon.

"So I did," He pondered, "You don't have to be afraid of me, I want to help,"

Wendy clutched my arm in apprehension and I reciprocated her touch with my own.

"Where is she?" He asked a final time and I saw the desperation in his eyes.

Carefully I stepped over to the bed Red was under.

I realized that I could either die or live at this point in my life. If I showed the Nazi where Red was and he killed her, he would most likely kill us all and we'd be dead. If we didn't show the Nazi where Red was hiding when he clearly knew she was in here somewhere, he would probably kill us.

Nazi's were like that, they killed for sport, they killed for fun, they rarely killed because it was necessary.

Once Red was lying on the bed again the Nazi did not gasp in horror as I had predicted or even cover his mouth with a handkerchief to avoid the smell.

Instead he bent down to her bedside. Red could barely tell he was there, she kept sliding in and out of consciousness. Her red hair stuck together in moist strands.

"You cannot tell anyone what I have done here," He told me and I laughed.

"You haven't done anything,"

He nodded slowly, his worried blue eyes never leaving the site of the dying girl.

"I'm not a doctor, I couldn't tell you what's wrong or what you need but she doesn't have long,"

"I know what she needs," I paused, realizing I didn't even know this man's name.

"Kenneth," He filled my awkward pause and after acknowledging it, I quickly moved on.

"She needs anti-biotics," I grasped at straws and to my luck Kenneth nodded.

"I can get that from our medic but I don't know how long it'll be," Kenneth's eyes had turned dark, his voice slightly lower.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, a look of apathy plastered on my face. Nazi's were the reason Red was dying in the first place. Why should I trust one just because he had the hair of an angel?

"Because this," He gestured to his pistol, waving his hands around at the squalor, "Isn't what I signed up for,"

I folded my arms around my chest tightly, pacing backwards I created more space between us. I laid a hand on Red's sweltering brow and she mewled softly.

"It's not what I signed up for either," I mumbled.

Kenneth look at his feet. Before I knew it he had buttoned his coat and was pulling the black leather gloves over his pale hands. Placing his hat on his head he began to leave, suddenly, he froze in the doorway, allowing the freezing air to swirl around the drafty room.

"I've had enough death," He muttered to himself before swinging back round to face me.

He curled his finger towards me and I tentatively moved towards the Nazi.

"I'll try my hardest," Kenneth mumbled, his bowed head obscuring his quite words, "But you might have to cut that foot clean off,"

I agreed with a sharp nod and then he was gone. The door locked with a click and we heard his whistling get softer until it disappeared

I thought about his last words and realized the implications that came with him. There was no way Red would be able to work without a foot. I looked over to the sickly girl, her eyes flickered open slightly and she smiled, tiredly at me.

If she didn't show signs of improvement soon, I was sure she would die.


	8. Craig

**Brutal chapter, right here.**

* * *

**Eric's POV**

They were like game. Easy to shoot and unable to fight back. I liked that but sometimes it got boring. They were sitting ducks and after a while of watching their feathers puff into the air as they fall back into the water even shooting sitting ducks became boring.

I stared at the gates of the ghetto, unwilling to go in and mix with the clutter of rodents in there.

Sergeant Major McCormick stepped foreward, reaching out to unlock the gate as if I wasn't capable of it myself.

I grabbed his wrist, thrusting it backwards as I unlocked the door.

I turned to look at my men. They looked tired, worn out, defeated.

McCormick had a steely look on his pretty face. His large blue eyes cut into me when I saw him, making his aquiline nose wrinkle as he narrowed his eyes.

The boy with the black hair, Craig, had pretty much the same expression as McCormick, just far less interested.

I began to get frustrated, letting out an exasperated sigh as the young men began to chat amongst themselves.

"SILENCE!" I bellowed, even Craig jumped as my voice carried, bouncing off the walls of the surrounding buildings.

I smiled, masking my anger at their impudence, they all stood to attention now, with the posture of soldiers and not the slouch of young boys.

"Who wants some fun?" The frightened flock of sheep eagerly nodded their heads, not that they would ever refuse me.

I licked my teeth, clapping my hands as a made my way into the squalor of the ghetto.

I knew they would be expecting a brothel but I had something far more fun in mind.

The stench of waste followed me through the mud slicked streets, people scattered in our wake, pressing themselves up against buildings or hiding inside for shelter. I laughed as I patrolled through the streets.

The heaviness of death hung on the air, I spotted collapsed children on the sidewalk and smirked, they died as they lived, like rodents.

The filth attempted to sell the little belongings they had but no one had any money to buy it with, simple illnesses spread like the plague in this place, causing even the common cold to become deadly.

My troop marched through, looking for 'fun'. Although, I already knew where we were going. We were going to visit my favorite group of abominations.

"Offnen," I commanded and Craig came foreward, using one boot clad foot to sharply push against the door.

It smashed open and ricocheted off of the wall. Within moments I had entered the tiny shack, staring around at it's inhabitants wondering who I should pick.

The boy from the other day stood with a gypsy, his arms pressed protectively on her shoulders. A large purple bruise surrounded his right eye, it was swollen shut. I glanced at McCormick to show him I was impressed with his work.

I would have pulled the ginger Jew out and had him take part in my little game if I didn't want to be the one to kill him so much.

Then, I thought about the girl with the black hair, she was attractive, and that might distract my men. Not that _I_ found her attractive, her large amber eyes and sloped nose were too gypsy for me.

"Take the black," I growled.

Two of my men marched foreward and grabbed the arms of a young black girl stood in the corner, she began to cry and throw herself about in protest.

I sighed, placing my fingers to the bridge of my nose.

"Not_ that_ black one,"

Trust them to be always thinking of women. They crossed the room and pulled a larger black man away, dragging his feet across the floor as he kicked at them.

Finally, he was thrown onto the ground outside and surrounded by Nazi soldiers.

"No!" Cried the gypsy girl, pushing against the Jew as she tried to reach the man outside.

"Wendy, please, you can't go out there," The Jew cried as he held onto the struggling girl's arm.

To my amusement, she ripped away, flipping around to hit the boy with the back of her hand. He cried out as her hand connected with his cheek, he recovered swiftly but Wendy was already out the door.

"Fine!" He retorted, running a hand through his slicked down hair, "Fucking fine,"

With the help of McCormick I walked around the room, ushering the others to vacate with the butt of my gun to their backs. Slowly they filtered out.

"Today," I bent down until I was at the same height as the kneeling man, "We are going to give you the opportunity to live or die."

I lightly slapped his face so he looked up at me, his brown eyes looked red in the overcast light of the street.

"You're going to fight one of my boys, hands on, with just a knife, Craig to be exact," I looked at Craig. If he was nervous or shocked he didn't show it, he just scowled at me, "You kill him, you live another day, you don't? Well, you know how that story ends,"

I knew there was no way he was going to live, even if he managed to stab Craig, I'd just shoot him in his chocolate brown face.

He was too weak to even get a punch in.

I withdrew my knife, tossing it onto the floor near the man's feet. It landed with a clatter before it was scooped up.

"Token," I heard the gypsy girl mumbled.

I grabbed her by her pretty black hair.  
"There will be no talking!" I screamed, bending her head until I towered over her, "Especially not from gypsy scum,"

I released her head and she fell backwards, the Jew was not there to catch her. Judging from the red mark on his cheek, I doubt he would anyway.

"Craig?" I called for him and he sluggishly stepped foreward. Handing his rifle to Kenneth he stepped into the make-shift ring brandishing his blade.

"Get up," He mumbled at the black man. I sat back and watched with glee as this, Token, climbed to his feet.

He stumbled.

Carefully, Craig began to circle him, the way a lion circles it's prey. He tossed the knife from one hand to the other, removing his hat and chucking that to Kenneth as well.

The black man watched as Craig slickly placed one foot in front of the other.

This would all be over soon.

Craig lunged foreward, sparring with the man as he retreated again.

Token's jaw was clenched and determined, it was amazing what people would do for their life. All around him the Nazi boys cheered, grateful for the amusement. I sat back and clapped my hands too. The Jews stood silent, feverish with worry.

Again Craig lunged, getting so close he grazed Token's thin, cloth shirt, tearing it. But drawing no blood

Suddenly, Token grabbed Craig's tie, yanking him foreward. Craig caught Token's wrist before the man could drive the knife into him. Token slammed a fist into Craig, his head snapping back as blood pulsed down his face, smeared across his chin by another punch.

With a guttural roar Craig kneed upwards into Token's stomach and the black man fell back, winded.

He quickly reclaimed his breath as Craig came for him again, holding the hilt of his curved knife clenched in his fist. Token dived out of the way, staying low to the cobbled floor as he began to hunt his opponent.

They were back to circling each other, no one daring to tackle the other. I could tell Craig was shocked at his near miss but his face was still twisted into an angry, blood soaked, snarl. Crimson spit, filled in the gaps between his teeth.

Token thrusted foreward in a hopeless bid for freedom.

Grabbing his wrist again, Craig make a jab with his own knife but Token gripped the knifes blade in his hand.

Ignoring the pain as the sharp metal cut into his hand, they two span in a trapped circle, dark blood dripped down Token's wrist and I grinned gleefully.

Both men fought for dominance as they spun around, each using every inch of their strength to stop the other from overpowering them. They fought for their lives.

With a crack, Craig drove his head into Token's, their skulls collided with a crunch and both released as they faltered around in confusion and pain.

I watched as they stood on opposite ends of the circle. Surrounded by a first layer of armed Nazi's and a second layer of despairing pigs.

This was a superb idea, one of my best.

Token shook his wounded hand, blood flickered from the cut and spat down, diagonally onto the pavement. He stared briefly at the knife in his hand, then he raised his eyes to his attacker.

In an attempt to turn the tables Token grabbed the handle of his knife, flipping it round. Then, with a half hearted swing, he threw the knife towards Craig.

Time slowed down as the knife spun rapidly through the air, whizzing elegantly towards Craig, turning circle after circle.

There was a collective gasp when it struck him.

I rose from my seat, my mouth open in anger and disbelief, ready to kill.

The knife had struck Craig in the heart, he slowly looked down at it and I saw the relief in Token's eyes as craig stumbled backwards, his bloody lips parted.

I reached for my gun, but didn't have to even take it out.

Craig was smiling.

The boy never smiles.

Was he desperately trying to keep his dignity, even as he died from a black man's knife?

Slowly, he opened his jacket to reveal the weapon. Stuck in the mass padding of his woolen blazer, the knife had gone all the way through but had been slowed down so much by the thickness of the coat, that it only reached through just enough to have nicked the top of Craig's pale skin, a red welt formed on his shirt.

Token shook his head, horrified as the very much alive Nazi tore towards him, shoving his knife into the already defeated man's stomach.

Token let out a pained moan as Craig used another push to drive the deeply embedded weapon upwards into his spin with a crunch. The life drained from Token as he eyes drooped, the spark of his life stomped out ruthlessly.

Craig held Token to his chest as the black man gripped on to his shoulders and the men around him yelled out in approval.

Finally, when the cheers died down and Craig was released from Token's grip, the man slumped to the floor, dead. The knife protruding from his chest, his blood smeared on Craig's shirt and coat and covering the floor.

I grinned as the silence enveloped us, even more when I heard the gypsy girl crying softly in the background.

"Alright men, take him away," They did as I asked, Craig still staring down, panting heavily and suckling his split lip.

Slowly we filtered the cretins over the blood soaked pavement and back into their shit hole of a house.

As the sniveling girl passed into the house, desperately babbling apologies to her Jew, I layed a hand on her lower back.

She turned to face me, broken, her eyes red.

"You know what?" I whispered in her ear, sliding my hand further down, feeling her shudder, "You're next,"

I delivered a sharp slap and left.

The men were right, it _is_ fun playing with girls.


	9. Wendy

**It's not really too Wendy centric but I'm running out of chapter names, so sue me. (Please don't)**

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**Kenny's POV**

I resented Cartman for what he had done. Craig had come back really shook up, I sat with him as he curled into a ball, breathing heavily but that was about all I could see wrong with him. Who knew what he was thinking.

I waited until Craig calmed down, exhausted from his grueling day he fell asleep and left me alone in the dark.

Exiting the room I found the fat bastard leaving to lock up the ghetto.

"I'll go sir," I stood to attention, even putting in the effort to salute him.

He grinned and rammed the keys into my hand, "Easy soldier,"

I could smell the alcohol of his breath.

He waddled away down the corridor of sleeping men, humming as he did so.

Upon seeing him disappear into the blackness of the dank corridor I unfurled the keys from my palm and checked my back pocket, they were still there.

When we arrived back earlier that evening I offered to grab Craig a bandage for the cut on his chest, he was so out of it he didn't even realize I wasn't being a dick to him.

As soon as I was in the medical cabinet I grabbed the antibiotics. With the amount of people getting hurt around here no one really noticed.

I entered the outside. It had started to snow, the cool flakes of shaved ice drifted lazily on paths of solitude, floating to the ground inch by inch and sticking to the dusted pavements.

I began to walk, my coat pulled tight around my shoulders, bending over against the cold, I blew on my gloved hands. I began to walk faster.

Slowly I knocked on the door, that should have been enough for them to recognise it was me. No Nazi would ever knock when entering a place that belonged to them. No Nazi would ever treat them with dignity but to me, I was no longer a Nazi.

Hanging on by rusty hinges, the door creaked open and a thin girl with tanned skin peaked her upturned nose out.

"Have you got it?" She asked desperately and I pushed into the room, glaring at her.

"You had no idea who I was with!" I growled, watching her shrink in her worn, pulling, cotton shirt.

I sighed and looked around.

"She's getting better," Kyle rose from the girl's bedside, his face ecstatic. "She's slept all today but she made out some words last night,"

He seemed so proud and I just nodded politely, walking over to the prone girl.

She still had a fine sheen of sweat plastered to her forehead but her complexion looked healthier and blood had returned to her lips. I reached out to touch her hand and it was deathly cold.

I stripped off my coat and laid it over the body, she breathed quickly beneath it, encased in a dream, smiling peacefully.

"Just give her some of these," I took out the medicine and pressed it into Kyle's hands. He looked at me warily and I could tell he would never trust me.

"Why do you want to help us?" He asked, folding his arms and taking one step closer to me as if he would attack me if I gave to wrong answer.

Let him try.

"I've told you," And I had, "I never wanted people to die,"

He laughed in my face, spit spackled my cheeks and I fought the urge to wipe it away. Instead choosing to stare into Kyle's wild, green eyes. Full of rebellion.

"The man who greets his friend with 'Heil Hitler' didn't want people to die," He retorted, "Your an idiot,"

"Why?" I growled, stepping closer so the toes of my boots where brushing the toes of his worn out, brown, loafers.

Kyle looked down at the floor.

"Because we're going to die," He mumbled, out of ear shot of his companions.

I exhaled slowly, I felt sorry for this man. He had fought and worked so hard to keep up the moral of a dying breed. It must be hard with women crying and living like shit, friends being ill and men turning to animals. I think that the death of Token broke him, he had lost the taste for rebellion that I had seen in his eyes, he was like a dog kicked out and left in the rain, pawing at the door to apologize but answered by no one.

"You aren't," I assured him softly, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder.

"No!" He batted my arm away and I lifted my hands in defence, "We're going to die and you're going to die too if you try and help us," He breathed heavily, tears pricking his eyes.

"That's not true Kyle," He opened his mouth in protest to me using his name, his eyes darting around, "I've heard things,"

He stopped, his accusing finger dropping to his side as he moved slightly closer to the man in the Nazi uniform.

"What things?" He asked quizzically, flaking away a patch of dried dirt on his arm.

"There's been talk of a rebellion against the Nazi's, rescuing the people inside the ghettos, taking things into our own hands,"

Suddenly the tiny house was alive with gossip, gentle murmurings of hope and the driving crescendo of passion, of rebellion, of revolution!

I grinned, watching as a wide toothed smile broke out across Kyle's face, he buried his head in his hands and as much as I wanted to pat him on the back, I refrained.

"Now Red's getting better," Kyle sighed to the girl who had joined him, "Token's will be the last death, the last,"

I nodded in agreement, I had no friends, no one to fight for but now I did. I would do what's right for once, and I would not let another person die.

Kyle turned and knelt by the sleeping girl's bedside, her slumbering smile lifted her cheeks and her eyes making her look beautiful and more alive than ever.

"Hear that Red," Wendy whispered, clutching the fiery headed girl's hand, "We're going to get out of here,"

Wendy's smile faltered and she glanced up to me.  
"Was she this cold a minute ago?" She asked.

I nodded slowly, my face suddenly creased, I jammed my hands into my pockets.

Kyle looked at Wendy, his mouth forming a small O and his hands freezing in the position they were in.

Wendy stared, her knuckles turning white as she gripped Red's hand harder than before. Creeping foreward, she laid her head down onto Red's chest, waiting for the eventual inhale.

Wendy gasped sharply, she began to convulse as she released Red's hand, her arms flying up to her hair, jittering wildly as she tangled her hands in it, pulling on it frantically, her face twisting into an excruciating look of pain.

A wail to match that of a banshee escaped from Wendy's lips.

"Do something!" She screamed at Kyle but he was still frozen, his bottom lip twitching slightly.

Red still had a smile on her face.

"I don't know what to do," Kyle breathed, the reply barely audible against the pandemonium.

I didn't know what had happened, but I think Red had been dead for a while.

Wendy collapsed on the body as people began to gather round, she delicately stroked the girl's crimson hair, petting it lovingly as she cried loudly and ferociously into the brown dress the girl was wearing. Her anguish subsiding to whimpering as she tried to prop Red up in the bed, ignoring the slack movements and the absent pulse.

I stood aside and let them mourn, I had thought she would live, how were we to know? We weren't doctors, all we did was our best and sometimes that isn't good enough. If anyone knows that it's me.

Kyle was mumbling to himself, swaying back and forth slightly and shaking his head. I wanted to go over and steady him but I just felt heavy, like I couldn't move my feet, I didn't belong there.

"Aww Red," Kyle sighed, his voice wheezing as he squeezed the words out of a throat that felt too tight, he moved a hand through his hair and I saw a perfect tear pushed into the corner of his eye. Quickly demolished by a balled up fist.

Suddenly he turned to me, his eyes raw.

"Get out," He growled.

Before I could reply he had already hit me once, his fist came down again but I caught it in my my cheek began to burn.

I understood that he blamed me: If I had given her the antibiotics sooner, I was a Nazi, I oversaw Red working, bla bla bla, but I wouldn't let him beat the crap out of me.

I reached into my coat and someone gasped behind me, thinking wrong of my actions, I glared at them.

I held out a gun. Handle forewards, to Kyle.

He stared down, he was crying now as he grasped it, pulling it towards it and staring at it. Numb.

"What's this for?" He grumbled, through heaving in breaths of air.

"Just in case," I mumbled and then fled from the building back into the freezing air.

"Slightly late McCormick," I heard a familiar voice, turning to see Cartman stood like a black shadow against the virginal snow.

I walked past him, my head shoved down so he didn't see the red mark on my face.

"One of them's dead," I admitted.

I walked back with the sounds of Cartman's laughter ringing in my ears.


	10. Bebe

**Having slight trouble with my S key, so if you spot any 'hes' that should be 'shes', just know Bebe hasn't had a sex change, my key board just sucks.**

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**Stan's POV**

I pulled in breaths rapidly as I approached the apartment, wondering how I would think of a plausible excuse for bringing a clearly fucked up stranger into our home.

Christophe had spent the whole walk briefing me and our plan. He was going to deliver the revolution papers into the ghetto, he was going to make sure the people within knew he were coming for them, they could then be prepared for the weapons we were going to smuggle in. The aim was to smuggle them out and away with the Nazi's becoming aware too soon but, if they did become aware we had enough firepower to fight them.

It was a long shot, but the only one we had.

I stared at Christophe's mud stained trousers and ruined backpack and tried to judge how pissed Bebe would be

She was easily aggravated, I could remember coming home late one night, working hard to keep her in pretty dresses and she screamed. She screamed as soon as I walked in the room told me I was 'selfish' and 'didn't love her' and I just sat there and mumbled my pathetic apologies, while she screamed and cried and blamed me for everything.

I could only imagine what it was going to be like this time. With Mole striding ahead up the five flights of stairs and me hurrying after him, trying to get him to slow down.

"Mole! Christophe! For fucks sake!" I cried, watching him slink around corners.

I pushed ahead, shoving him against a wall as I moved towards the door.

"Calm down sissy," He murmured back to me, lighting up.

I snatched the lighter from his hand and jammed it into my pocket.

Suddenly, I felt his breath on my ear.

"I'd give that back if I was you," He grunted.

I gave it back.

Deftly, I slipped the key into the lock, it opened easily to the open floor plan of the home. The smell of food drifted through from the kitchen, a pie of some sort, mystery meat as usual.

"Oh honey you're home, I'm just putting dinner out," She strolled out into the hallway, gasping as she laid eyes on the roughed up man in front of her. Leaning against the wall in his mud caked Nazi boots and uneven shirt sleeves, Christophe folded his arms in greeting.

"Um, Stanley...?" Bebe laughed nervously, pulling off her red, spotty, oven gloves and placing the large ceramic dish on the oak table. Smoothing down her black, ankle length skirt, she moved towards me, grasping for my arm.

"Hello Bebe," I wheezed, leaning foreward to kiss her as if nothing was wrong, she recoiled slightly, staring behind me at the stranger. "This is my cousin, Christophe," I answered, hoping it was a good enough excuse.

Bebe glared at me, tearing off her matching polka dot apron.

"Christophe?" She the peculiar sounding name

I smacked at Christophe as he whispered "She's hot," In my ear.

"He's my french cousin...?" I didn't sound convincing and there was a heavy silence that covered the meeting like a blanket.

"I'm getting out to deliver the papers," Christophe lilted in his French accent. "I can slip some into the ghetto,"

With a last glance at my girlfriend's ass he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and slid from the room.

It was about twenty seconds before Bebe spoke.

"Who, the fuck is that Stanley," She hissed, her tone so neutral that it was almost sinister.

"My cousin," I whimpered hopefully.

She clicked foreward on her red heels, coming so close that she towered a good couple of inches above me, her red lips twisted into a snarl.

"Who is he Stan!" She yelled, throwing her hands up.

"He's a friend Bebe, a friend," I tried to appease her but it was no use.

I could see she was growing more and more red the longer I kept it from her.

"What did he mean by the 'papers' Stan?!" She cried, bending slightly as she grew more impatient. "Papers in the ghettos!"

A million thoughts streamed through my mind, each one ended the same. With Bebe and me both screaming, one because I wouldn't tell her the truth and the other because I did.

"He delivers papers, that's how we met,"

She stared at me, her eyes slowly narrowing.

"I thought he was your cousin," She whispered, so quiet I almost asked her to repeat what she said.

I blanched and she screamed.

Not a scream of pain but a scream of rage that made me want to cover my ears to block it out. Like an engine roaring cross with a lion attacking an antelope.

"What are you hiding from me Stan!?" She yelled, stamping her foot, "What aren't you telling me?!"

I was afraid of her, I had to admit, she scared the shit out of me. Especially when she was angry.

"Bebe, baby you might want to sit down," I tried to soothe her by laying my hand on her soft skin.

"No," She yelped, flinching away, "Don't tell me what to do!"

"Okay," I replied calmly, holding up my hands. My heart was beating fast and there was a part of me that felt like I was going to throw up any second. "I'm helping them,"

She froze, her ruby lips parting, the M shape rising towards her upturned nose.

She scoffed, pressing a palm to her forehead.

"You're _what?!_" She groaned, hoping she had heard wrong.

"I'm helping the Jews, I'm going to get them out, I've started something Bebe, something big," I babbled on, realizing just how huge my project had become. Me and Gregory had more and more people asking to join daily, we were becoming quite the army and soon we planned to put our plan into action, soon we would liberate the ghetto and over throw the Nazi's, I felt it.

Bebe screeched again, her angry howl descending into a low rumble at the back of her throat as her eyes burnt into me.

"You idiot!" She cried, "You idiot Stanley!"

She paced the floor, smacking a glass from the table and sending it crashing to the floor and shattering into a million pieces, the light reflecting off of it made it look like diamonds littering the ground.

I jumped at the noise, screwing my eyebrows together as I desperately tried to turn back time. I rested two fingers on the bridge of my nose and screwed up my face.

"You're going to get yourself killed!"Her voice softened and she looked at me, her big blue eyes wet with tears. I loved her then. "You're going to get all of us killed, _me_ killed!"

I hated her then.

"You selfish bitch," I hissed, not caring now when she turned and stormed up to me.

She drew back her hand, ready to strike me but I grabbed her wrist. She pulled against me but I wouldn't take her insolence anymore, I wouldn't hit her, but I sure as hell wasn't going to let a woman hit_ me._

I never had much of a backbone, I let people take advantage of me and I always backed down easily. Not this time though, not when I found something I stood for, something I knew was right.

Stopping her slap by holding her arm in place, I flung it back towards her chest.

"You are a spineless, pathetic, person Bebe," I laughed, "You're a bitch. An ignorant, ignorant, bitch."

She made a squeak of shock and disapproval but could think of no decent argument to combat my own.

Bebe knew she was only concerned about herself, she couldn't deny what the Nazi's were doing was wrong but she just pretended it wasn't real or, even better, that it wasn't her place to comment. She knew my opinion long ago, but unveiling it to her was obviously too much, she had hit breaking point.

She threw her arms up, shaking her head as she began to cry, her bottom lip trembling as she stomped her foot in defiance but we both knew that this was the end.

"I'm sorry Beeb," I told her, my voice hushed, "But I can't be with someone who can watch the suffering of others and do fuck all about it,"

Bebe kicked off her red shoes and stood in her stockings, taking the pin out of her blonde hair and letting it spill down her shoulders, her eyes surrounded by thick black rings.

I hadn't even taken off my coat.

"And I can't be with you," She moaned, sniffling, "When you're willing to place the people you love in danger for people you've never met,"

"Bebe, you can't tell anyone," I knelt by her, taking her hands, "I'm begging you,"

It was too late, Bebe could either keep it secret or send me to death and from the fight we just had I'm guessing she wanted to latter, I had to trust her. I had been trusting her for three years but now, to me, this was all that mattered.

She stared down at me, her face apathetic.

"I want the good plates," She sobbed, "And the picture in the hallway and the rug,"

She tore her hands away from me and jammed her shoes back onto her feet., I couldn't help smile. Still shallow, still beautiful.

"Keep the flat," She grumbled, "I don't need it, I'll stay with my mother"

I stayed on the floor, kneeling, staring at the carpet, bobbing my head tranquilly in agreement.

"I'll come back for my stuff, but then I'm going away,"

I nodded, sitting cross legged I turned to watch her go. She scooped up a red bag and then she was gone, trotting down the stairs, she never even said goodbye, much less 'I love you'. I would have said it back still, I did love her but it was now more of a comfort relationship then one based on affection. She was gone.

We were gone too, me and Bebe were done and gone. I knew I would never see her pretty face again, never touch her again, she would never be there. Me and Bebe were just too different, Bebe had left me and it was the single most ambivalent moment of my life.


	11. Paper

** I'm sorry this is so shit, I've been away for ages and was kind of wanting to get back into the swing of things because it has been far too long. Plus it's 12:00am here and I'm sleepy.**

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**Kyle's POV**

I sat on Red's empty bed, tossing the gun from one calloused hand to the other, feeling the weight between my white knuckles.

Sighing, I replaced the weapon between the slats of wood underneath Red's bed. I ran a hand through my frizzy red hair, licking my palm I tried to smooth it down, tasting salt and dirt in my mouth. I stared at her bed, a small heirloom left on the discolored pillow, I tried my best not to look at it but the glittering silver in the flicker of candlelight kept catching my eyes.

Picking up the delicate locket, I fingered the tiny links in the chain, willing myself to do something with it, anything. Throw it away or keep it safe but the doubt had already begun to chew at my insides. Creating a swirl of nausea and cramping that rivaled my indigestion.

What was the point of keeping it? We were all going to die. No one was coming and soon we were going to be one big pile of ash, just like Red.

I felt a lowly tear slide down my pallid cheek, hang precariously from my chin and then descend onto my hand.

I rediscovered the gun. Toying with it once again. Raising it and placing it on the edge of my tongue, shiny, metallic barrel pointing straight towards my tonsils. My finger hovered languidly above the trigger., twitching involuntarily

I heaved out a hot blast of air and withdrew my suicide wish.

Even if I wanted to die, I don't think I would have the courage.

I wanted to stand up for what was right.

Suddenly, the door flew open, allowing a swirl of blisteringly cold wind the sweep across the room and touch my face, like the caress of a knife.

Wendy stumbled in, her ragged, shoulder length hair was blown messily about her face, sticking up at odd angles with visible knots. She didn't seem to care, she burst into the room, panting, her cheeks a plump pink and a child like gleam in her eye.

She halted by the doorway as the rest of us us leant toward her in our seats. Her sweaty palms left visible marks on her pale blue trousers and her work short of speckled from the rain outside.

"It's happening," She wheezed, her smile looking like it was about to rip her face in two, "It's finally happening," She yelled this time, dancing around the room.

I exchanged glances with the confused patrons of our cabins, Wendy swirled and twirled in the spaces between us, a sheet of newspaper clutched in her hands.

"What's happening Wendy?" I reached out a hand but she whipped towards me, thrusting the newspaper into my face.

It was damp but I could still make out the headline.

'Revolution.'

I stared blankly at it for a couple of minutes, sure it must be a hoax, a sick joke played by the men who put us here, by Eric Cartman.

"Sit down Wendy," I mumbled, trying to reach for her arm but she was too fast, she slid from my grip and carried on dancing. "WENDY!" I bellowed and she froze. Not like rabbit in the headlights but more like a rebellious student finally being told off by a spinless teacher.

"Don't you get it Kyle?" She took my face in her hands, her eyes dreaming of a far away place, "We're not going to die!" She pirouetted, "We're not going to die, we're going to live! Don't you see? Red, Token, it's not in vain anymore, we'll show those Nazi scum whose boss, we're going to live!" She had bright orbs filled to the brim with relief dominating her eyes now but I was still wary.

"Where did you find this?" I asked, snatching the waterlogged paper from her hand, tearing the sodden mess in the process.

"I went outside to use to outhouse, and it was on the roof," She laughed, "Just sitting their, anyone could have seen it!"

Our cabin backed onto the wall of the ghetto, high enough the keep us in, keep us from climbing it or sliding underneath but not so tall that it would be impossible to throw something over it, something that could land on the roof.

Risky. If anyone other than Wendy had seen that, anyone with a swastika, we would all be dead in a minute. There wouldn't be any revolution, there wouldn't be a rescue because we would be lying in pools of our own blood.

Who the fuck do these people think they are risking our lives like that?!

"They must have thrown it other Kyle!" Wendy yipped and I began to see others with creeping smiles on their faces. It seemed it was only me who needed all the facts. "There are messages to us and updates on who wants to help us, there are even instructions on what we can do to help!"

They were gathering around Wendy's torn strips of wet paper ow, trying to piece it all together so they could re-read the 'secret messages.'

I should have been happy but somehow I felt betrayed, the risks felt to high. This is coming from a person who twenty minutes ago had a gun in their mouth. I waited for the door to burst open, for the Nazi's to storm in and laugh at their prank or for them to shoot us all dead. I cringed.

"Here Kyle," I felt a lump of watery goo slap on my leg, "Read it,"

Later on that night, I finally picked up the paper. It had dried out and was now cracking like parchment under my touch. I read the title over and over, taking in the bold print as it screamed across the page. I scanned the thing, searching for the people behind this, waiting for some kind of faux pas but there wasn't. There were two names.

The first, Gregory, had his last name wiped out by rainwater leaving with Gregory and a small picture of a blonde haired prick.

The second, the second made my eyes widen and sharply intake breath, the man behind all this, the man starting a revolution, the man who risked my life without me knowing it, was Stan Marsh.

Quietly, at the other side of the room where the congregation of people pleased about the paper had made their camp, I began to hear them sing,


	12. Help

**Dark lol.**

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**Eric's POV**

"Burn it," I yawned, staring down at the limp, bloated body of the red-headed girl. Her eyes were glazed over with a milky film, giving the illusion that she was blind, "I really don't care,"  
"What with sir?" Craig muttered, sighing heavily and taking off his helmet and glancing at McCormick who stood away from our group, sucking the end of a cigarette, his feet planted in the thick, water-logged mud.  
"I really couldn't give less of a shit, just get rid of it," A wet slap caught my attention as McCormick violently brought his boot down on the still blazing paper.  
"We could cut her up and bury her," Kenny seethed, I bristled at his sarcasm.  
"You really think, that," I kicked the hunk of flesh, "deserves a burial,"  
Craig perked up, "No sir!"  
"No sir," McCormick agreed.  
I grinned, feeling a sense of victory.  
"Good, I'm sure you can find some petrol," I stood back, leaning on my weapon as I watched McCormick and Tucker drag the body away. Craig smiling as he chatted away to McCormick, occasionally McCormick nodded curtly to the boy with his helmet tucked neatly under his arm.  
I should have laughed, made a cruel joke but I didn't. I was beginning to worry about Kenneth McCormick, his unrelenting, unrevealing, face was starting to become a problem. I had always known McCormick's heart wasn't really in what we were doing but I really didn't care. It just made it more fun to force him higher, suffocate him with responsibility and, even though we both knew it was all a façade, give him the most heinous jobs and expect him to like it.  
But he'd begun to slip, he'd begun to talk back to me, he'd begun to visibly show his distaste and that really didn't sit well with me.  
"Craig take the rest of these good for nothings away with you and start burning these pieces of shit,"  
Craig tilted his head and the rest of the men standing around began to trickle towards Tucker.  
"Where are you going?" McCormick inquired, allowing one of the men to take the body from his hands.  
I shrugged, turning away.  
"I think I'm going to visit some very unhappy Jews,"

"Hello, hello, hello," I strolled across the peeling wooden floors, my hands behind my back clutching a large, leather dog whip, pistol jammed into its holster on my hip.  
With great pleasure I watched as they cowered before me, all but two.  
The Jew, the one with the mass of bright red hair, jerked up into a sitting position on his ramshackle bed, his shining green eyes turning dark as they burned into me.  
The other was the Gypsy, Wendy, she sat in a huddle with all the other cockroaches. She got to her feet, long legs extended in a pair of dirty, cropped, pants. She stood up, one hand extended backwards as if she was trying to protect her friends.  
A slow, sly smile spread dangerously across my face.  
I had tried to stop, shunned myself every-time I lie in my bed in the dead of night, thinking of her and feeling myself grow. I had spat at her, referred to her as disgusting, a slut, a whore, an abominations. I didn't want to want her but I did.  
God I wanted her.  
I thought of the only possible way out, the only thing I could do.  
I just had to fuck her and get it over with.  
Whether she wanted it or not.  
The dull thud of the soles of my shoes fell flat in the small room.  
"You," I lashed with the whip, the thin leather licked out and struck the ground in front of Wendy with a 'thwack'  
She jumped backwards, stumbling slightly, afraid of the weapon.  
"Come here," I growled, she didn't move. She just stood, watching me with large amber eyes, shiny with fear.  
I used my free hand to withdraw my Luger and point it at the Jewish boy. Waving it about messily, I kept my eyes on the girl.  
"You come with me," I told her, wide-eyed with a slow pace. "Or I shoot Kosher boy here,"  
Her pretty mouth parted in a tiny O as she glanced towards her friend. Slowly she crept towards me, as she moved across the floor I dragged the whip back towards me, inches in front of her.  
"Wendy," Kyle hissed but she continued advancing towards me.  
Soon she was close enough for me to grab her pale and fragile arm, I twisted the whip around so I had enough room to shove the pistol between her shoulder blades, forcing her to walk forward.  
"One wrong move," I whispered hotly in her ear, brushing her dark hair from her shoulder, "And I blow a hole in you,"  
Hauling her through the sludge outside, we advanced towards the barracks, I yanked her up by her hair as she stumbled, the mud splatter around her bare legs was a turn off. Not turn off enough.  
"Get it," I grunted, shoving her into the barracks, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the back room of the dining hall.  
She whimpered and pushed against me, that pissed me off. I brought my hand down in an arc connecting with her shoulder. She fell to the floor with a grunt, putting her delicate hands out to stop her fall. With a cry she withdrew, scooting backwards, avoiding the patch of dried blood she had fallen in.  
She turned, her face a picture of horror as she stared up at me.  
She realized.  
"Ple-"  
"Shut up!" I yelled, pointing the pistol at her. Using my free hand I dislodged the whip from my shoulder. Cracking it down on the floor and watching Wendy twitch in fear.  
I smirked. Crouching down until I was on her level.  
"I'm going to make it really nice for you, because that's just the kind of man I am," Her bottom lip began to tremble and she shook her head.  
My eyebrows furrowed. Refusal? Even after a promise to make it nice? That wasn't going to work.  
"Take off your shirt," I stood, towering over her, a huge shadow covering her, I glared at her perky breasts beneath the dirty linen shirt. She just stared like a tiny, doe eyed, deer. "Take off your fucking shirt!" I screamed.  
My face had grown red from annoyance and I could feel drops of sweat sinking into my skin, a bulge of a blue vein popped up in my neck.  
With shaky hands Wendy reached up and popped apart the buttons, a thin strip of tan flesh revealed itself and I couldn't wait. I holstered my gun and reached out, grabbing the lapels of her shirt and hoisting her, messily to her feet. With a vice like grip I pulled in opposite directions, tiny, plastic buttons burst like a grenade and scattered on the ground.  
Wendy gasped and turned her face away, squeezing her tear filled eyes closed.  
I ran my hands down her petite figure, resting on her jutting hips. Her breasts covered by a small cotton bra, I glared, hungrily at her and she began to cry. Low, concealed sobs of humiliation.  
It made me smile.  
I ran a hand over the scratchy material and squeezed. She cried even harder, pushing away.  
Yanking the back of her neck I pulled her closer to me, I used to other hand to slap her across the face.  
"Stop your bitching," I growled, shoving her down to the stone, watching as she recoiled backwards and hit her head against the wall.  
With a small kick, she sprawled out on her stomach, groaning as she pushed herself up to all fours. Like a flash of lightning, the whip came down, cutting a blood gash into her back and sending her face first back to the stone floor.  
I flipped her like a burger, to her back, placing a large boot on her sternum, forcing her down, arms failing, looking around desperately for a weapon.  
My belt was ripped away and I began to struggle with the buttons of my trousers, applying pressure to the squirming girl beneath me.  
And suddenly she was screaming, screaming for help, loudly and warbled, full of pure desperation.  
I lifted my boot and brought it down, admiring the impression it had left on her soft skin.  
She heaved, sitting up with the pain and heaving in raspy breaths.  
But then it was over. The double doors were open and someone had punched me. I tripped over my extended trouser and fell to my knees, a blinding pain in my mouth. I spat and a small chip of tooth fell to the ground in a string of blood.  
I looked up at the figure above me.  
"Fucking hell McCormick, I wasn't planning on a threesome," I swirled my tongue around my mouth.  
"You fucking sick freak!" Flecks of spit left his mouth as he yelled, "You fucking hypocrite!"  
I laughed and his fist came down again this time blinding me and leaving me a blurry world of dark shapes.  
I moaned in pain and watched one blurry shape lifted the other blurry shape and carried them from the blurry room.


	13. Clyde

**Dear 24601, I'm sure it's still Wednesday somewhere and therefore this counts as uploading tomorrow and therefore you cannot hunt me down and kill me.**

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**Kenny's POV**

"I'm alright, I'm alright," Wendy pushed away from me, waving her hand and clutching together the remnants of her top.

"I won't come inside, I've got a feeling I won't really be welcome right now," I began to retreat, trying desperately to keep my eyes from magnetizing to Wendy's chest.

"I know you're trying to help Mr. McCormick," She sighed and I tensed at the name

"Please, it's Kenny," She nodded.

"Thank you," She murmured against her shoulder. She looked up, showing her blanched face, she was pretty shaken up. "What are you going to do?"

My eyes darted around, watching for Cartman. I had to leave, hide for a while, at least until he calmed down.

"I better go...somewhere,"

I watched as Wendy retreated inside. Listening, to the mumbles coming from inside, they steadily increased until I could clearly hear Kyle yelling.  
"I'll fucking kill them, I'll fucking kill them all!" Wendy mumbled a reply but Kyle just carried on.

I turned and left, breaking into a jog as I searched for some place to take refuge for a while. It had begun to rain again, fat raindrops plummeted to the ground, splashing my shins with thick mud. Beginning to run, I realized what I had done, I realized I was probably going to die, I didn't want to die.

As I was running I saw no one, not one man. I came to the conclusion Cartman was putting together a search for me. I fled to the south side, through narrow, cobbled streets and half finished building projects, I aimed for the armory.

The tiny, shed-like building, was mostly devoid of actual weaponry. It was just an empty building with a smaller room inside complete with a great big lock.  
I swung in through the door into the lobby, expecting to be engulfed in silence but instead I heard voices. Hushed voices and a kind of thumping.

"Please, I know it wouldn't be easy," A thick, muffled voice with a slight lisp asked.

"For fucks sake!" A labored voice that I recognized muttered, interspersed with panting breaths. "I told you not to talk while we're doing this!"  
That voice was Craig's.

I raised my eyebrows, backing away from the door but I could still hear their conversation.

"Please Craig. Can't. You. Just. Quit. This. Shit!" The other voice gasped, and the thudding stopped with an aggressive grunt.

"I can't just quit Clyde, what am I going to say? Hey Captain, I'm a fucking fag so I'll be going now! They'd fucking kill me!"

I took an involuntarily step backwards, my mouth hanging open. There was something in me that was glowing, something in me that was desperately trying to laugh at the face that Craig Tucker, the killer, the follower, the stoic, unfeeling bastard, was gay.

Then there was a secondary part of me, this part knew that if Craig was ever 'discovered' he would be killed, or worse. There are some things worse than death.

"We could run away, I hear America's nice," The sound of rustling material made it hard to understand what Craig's partner was saying but he could just about make it out.

"We're at war with fucking America Clyde!" Craig snapped and then I could hear a sniffling and the sound of tears.

"We don't have to be," Clyde sniveled and Craig sighed.

"Yes, we do," Craig swallowed, "You remember how to get out without being seen right?"

"Do you even like me Craig?" Clyde bit back.

By now I had my ear pressed to the door and was listening intently.

"Sure, sure I do," Craig replied a little quickly, "But now you need to leave,"

"Please Craig," The sound of a belt buckling, "Can't you just think about it?"

"There isn't anything to think about," Craig yawned, "I'm not leaving,"

There was a pause, a long stretch of silence that seemed to bounce off the walls until it was screaming in my ears

.  
"But...but I think I might love you..." There was a smack of flesh against wood and whimper of pain.

"You don't love me Clyde! You just fuck me, we just fuck! I'm not leaving here! Do you fucking hear me?! Nobody is going to know about us, ever!"

This was the most enthusiastic Craig had ever been about anything, the most emotion I had ever seen him express the whole time I had been here. He had killed innocents and talked about rape with the straightest of faces. But now he was broken.

"Leave,"

There was another silence and some shuffling.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Craig muttered somewhat hopefully.

"Yeah, that's all you want right?" Before Craig could even intercept his comment the door burst open.

I jumped backwards, freezing as if I could just blend into the woodwork. The brown haired boy stepped out, not even catching my eye, buttoning his red shirt and looking weepy and sore eyed.

Then he saw me.

His eyes widened and he heaved in a deep breath.

"Craig..." He whispered, mouth hanging open on a hinge

.  
"What?" Craig stepped into the hall, adjusting his helmet.

"Please don't kill me," Clyde began to cry, a tear rolling down his cheek.

I faltered, forgetting for a second, wondering why this man would ever think I would want to hurt him. I shook my head gently and pointed the door. Clyde flew to it, darting out into the rain.

"What?!" Craig asked again, looking up.

Craig freaked.

He dropped his hat to the ground, stumble backwards into the armory and bolting the door.

"Holy shit!" He yelled, pacing the floor, "Holy shit!"

I placed my hand on the locked door, bashing it with my fist.

"Craig!" I growled, "Craig It's alright,"

I could hear him bolting up and down like a caged tiger, his steps punctuated with a hushed, panicked voice.

"Oh god, oh god,"

"Craig," I tried again.

"No!" He screamed. I had never heard Craig scream. "We aren't friends McCormick," He had calmed somewhat, "Not now," He whispered.

"Why not? I'm not going to hurt you." I dragged a hang against the wood, barely worrying until a sharp pain struck my palm and I glanced at the splinter lodged in it, a welt of blood pulsed around it.

"You will," He mumbled, "I know it,"

"Craig if you just come out we can talk and I can show you I'm not going to hurt you," Silence. "Please just come out man," I sighed.

I clenched my hand and the blood ran down my wrist. Using my index finger and thumb I yanked at the piece of wood and dislodged it, expecting the pain to reside. Instead it became even more painful, blood leaked from the tiny pin prick and colored my hand red.

"You'll tell," he whispered, "You'll tell Captain Cartman,"

I heard the metallic click of a hand held and I bristled, slamming my hands against the door.

"Craig, listen to me," I cried out, glancing around for some way to get into the room, "I'm in here hiding from Cartman, the last thing I'm about to do is tell someone about you,"

It didn't matter about evidence, one wrong allegation could end with murder without any serious investigation.

"You always hated me McCormick, you'll tell," He groaned, more metallic clicking, "You'll tell,"

"Maybe we didn't always see eye to eye Tucker but I don't want you fucking killed!"

There was a small whine and heavy breaths coming from inside the room.

I withdrew my hand from the door and left a bloody print. My hand hadn't stopped bleeding.

I could hear the sound of a shaking barrel coming from inside the room.

"You'll tell and we'll get fucking killed," Then I knew the gun was pressed to his temple and not jammed into his mouth. "Clyde was right, I should have left, I should have stopped pretending," Craig's voice was choked and I could hear him sobbing quietly, defensively.

"Craig," I erupted sternly, the sobs continued, drying up eventually.

"Ken?" Craig whistled, as soft as the wind.

"Yeah kid?" I asked softly.

The gun had stopped shaking. Craig must have lowered it.

"Ken I've killed so many men, so many women just as easy, not to mention kids. I've gone into gun fights and followed orders so fucking blindly that I've betrayed most of my friends. Shit, I'm not scared of death, I always found it so easy to pull the trigger, to end all of those lives. No, I've never been scared of death," Craig dragged in a deep, dark breath and exhaled slowly, "So why am I afraid to die?"

It was only then I realized Craig hadn't lowered his gun, he had only steadied his hand.

The shot took the wind out of me. I doubled over, pulling in rasping breath after breath. The ringing in my ears had barely subsided after ten minutes and even after that I still couldn't move.

Maybe Craig wasn't so afraid to die after all.


	14. Tweek and Jenny

**Back! I only have so much historical knowledge in my head and I've tried my best to research everything in this story so if anyone spots anything inaccurate please give me a PM**

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**Stanley's POV**

My hands shook.

They jittered violently as we took to the streets that night, thumping along in our thick heeled shoes and earning disapproving grunts from Mole as he darted about like a mouse.

"Fucking hell!" He growled and I stopped immediately.

I'm not sure if I was desperate to please Christophe or If I just was terrified of the psychotic man wielding the shovel and bag of pistols.

It was half past four and we had only two hours before the sun began to rise and the people of Germany started their mundane day to day lives.

There really wasn't much of a plan. We'd gained a grand total of two followers to come along with us, despite having over two hundred people reading the paper, and coming to the meetings.

Two hundred people crowded in a disused beer hall at three in the morning. One hundred and ninety eight of them kept their cowardly mouths shut and I'm pretty sure the agreement was an exclamation rather than an affirmation of consent.

'Tweek' Tweak was small and blonde and hated by Christophe because of his agitated, out of the blue, shouts. Tweek spent most of his time with Gregory's gloved hand wrapped tightly around his mouth. I can't tell you how much Greg wished he could do that to Christophe when he was having one of his rants.

The second of our two followers had been wearing a tight flat cap and a brown jumpsuit and acted completely oblivious to the fact we knew she was a woman.

"This is not a place for a woman," Christophe spat on the ground, glaring at her.

"I'm not a woman," She replied shaking her head, shrieking as Gregory swiped at her hat and her long dark hair fell around her shoulders.

I shook my head, snatching the hat from Gregory and giving it back to her, "It doesn't matter,"

Mole took a step towards the girl, dismissing her with a swipe of his hand.

"Go home little girl,"

Jennifer, the girl, didn't look disheartened, she looked angry.

"I want to help just as much as you!"

I watched on as Gregory tugged on Christophe's shoulder and spun him round, throwing him up against the beer hall wall with a ferocity that knocked the wind out of him. Greg could be cruel when he wanted.

"What now Chris?!" Mole growled at the nickname, Gregory clutched harder on the shirt he was holding, "There are only four of us. We can't host a revolution with four people,"

"What makes you think five would be any better?" Christophe barked

Gregory dropped the angry French man and walked back towards Jennifer. He held out a slender gloved hand and she gripped it excitedly and she was in.

So here we were.

Jenny was still dressed as a boy and Tweek was twitching. Christophe was shouting at Gregory because he wasn't being quiet enough and I was stood looking at the gates to the ghetto. Albeit far away but close enough to know what was in store for me.

"We aren't ready," I whispered.

Gregory suddenly froze. Turning towards me like the hand of a clock, his had snapped in my direction.

"What?" He asked.

"There's only five of us," I started to babble, "I know it's a small place, I know there aren't many, but the people in there, they'll be weak, they won't be able to fight! There isn't anyway we can come out on top Gregory, we can give it more time, get more people! We haven't even got a plan!"

The back of Christophe's hand connected with my face, throwing my head to the right. Pulling me towards him, he raised his fist and placed his grubby face close to mine.

I could smell smoke on his breath and he was close enough for me to see the pained crows feet around his eyes, there was a faint trail of a scar that ran down through his lip.

"Quit your whining," He shook me, "There isn't time for you to be a bitch,"

"He's right Stanley," It was rare that the two agreed on anything, "If we wait any longer there won't be anyone to rescue."

And with that Mole let me go. Greg turned and began to tiptoe around the side of the ghetto, sliding diligently along the wall, Tweek and Jenny in tow.

I sighed loudly, trying to repress my fears and do the right thing but that was proving a more difficult than I expected. There was that ever present fear. Especially now as we were approaching where we wanted to go.

The ghetto's walls were easily climbable now that there were five of us. It was guards that were the problem but as expected they were gathered at the opposite end of their posts. We could hear them laughing with each other as they stood in a group smoking.

You might be thinking why didn't the people imprisoned in the Ghetto try to escape. Well apart from the extreme threat of death if they even left their quarters without permission, where would they go? No one would take in someone who even looked remotely Jewish, let alone was a refugee.

Mole nodded at me, it seemed like some kind of signal but I had forgotten the plan. It was like my mind was frozen and everything that had ever happened over the course of the last months had dispersed.

Gregory grabbed Jenny by the waist, with a large grunt he lifted the slim girl up and as she reached the top of the wall she clung onto the ledge. Greg let go and left her dangling, she pulled upwards and checked the other side. With a nod she held her hand out for Gregory who was quickly hauled up aswell, followed by me in my half zombie state.

Crouched on the top of the wall we were aware that if any guard finished their cigarette ahead of the rest we would be dead before we even started..

Suddenly Tweek squeaked.

He was violently shaking his head as Christophe grabbed him by the shoulder.

"No! I've changed my mind! It's too much pressure!" The young boy whimpered. He was only around seventeen.

Chirstophe pulled him up to wall so they were both pressed against it. Pointing back the way we came Christophe alerted Tweek to something else.

"See that?" Tweek gasped and Christophe slammed his hand over the blonde boys mouth, as they both stared at the dark figure with the SS patch patrolling. "You have until that man reaches the fourth lamp post before he sees us and shoots us all,"

Tweek began to shake violently, his head whirring from us, to the group of guards, to the soldier.

The guard was walking still, heading up to the third lamp.

Christophe was cutting it close. He had about two minutes and the man was getting closer.

"I'll go, let's go!" Tweek demanded, holding his arms up to us.

We all clutched him and dragged him to the top.

The guard was approaching the fourth lamp now and Mole was taking his time. Jenny and Tweek had descended to the other side of the wall now but me and Gregory were reaching down for Christophe.

Yawning he passed up his shovel. I grabbed it angrily and threw it down to Jenny, beckoning to Christophe. Then he threw up the bag of guns.

"Mole, come on!" I whisper shouted, aware that the soldier was at the fourth lamp post now and able to see us.

Finally he gave us his muscular arms and in a frantic struggle against gravity we managed to drag him to the wall. It was a small wall though and as he rolled Mole on, my foot slipped off into nothing. I toppled from the top of the wall and onto Jenny and Tweek with a loud thud, Greg and Mole soon followed with an even louder crash.

I gasped, my back felt broken and I couldn't reach air and I regained my breath.

We froze and listened.

"What was that?" My eyes widened as I heard one guard.

"I don't know," Another guard and then the thud of boots.

Mole raised a finger to his lips and we all nodded, rigid with fear.

"Probably nothing," The first guard assured his co-worker and the footsteps deceased.

With a collective sigh of relief we felt an ironic sense of achievement and disappointment. This is where we would probably die, from that moment on, it felt like I was talking with ghosts.

I threw myself towards Mole with a clenched fist but Gregory intercepted, holding me back with little effort he smoothed down his blonde locks.

"Why didn't you hurry?! You could have got us killed! You said when he reached the fourth lamp post he'd be able to see us!" I whispered shouted.

Mole waved me off, snatching his shovel from Jennifer and attaching it to his back, a subtle smile attached to his face.

"We had till the seventh,"


	15. Us

**I can't thank you enough for the continued support on this, it's amazing.**

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"Get off me Kyle," Wendy ripped her arm from my grip, blushing furiously.

"I'll fucking kill them!" I screamed, brandishing the tiny pistol like it was the world's newest advance in military weaponry, "I'll fucking kill them all!"

I made a dash for the door but Wendy ripped me back, her top falling open as she released it. It didn't even occur to me to look.

"You and what army?"

She was right.

There was nothing I could do to avenge what one of them had done to her, no matter how heinous it could have been. No matter how many disgusting thoughts were streaming though my head. No matter how red my face had gone nor shaky my hands.

"It's alright Kyle, it's really okay," She laid a hand on my arm and I sighed loudly.

Nicole was crowded round Wendy, her hands on her shoulders comfortingly but no one was overly bothered. Everyone had the same sad look on their face but mostly it was masked with an overtone of apathy.

"At least it didn't happen," She told me, "At least it didn't go that far,"

I thought about it happening to Wendy, I thought about her screaming and someones great, muscled, body sprawled on top of her. I thought about her kicking and punching him and trying to get him off of her and getting a good blow in and then running and running and running until finally, she was back here. I thought about her sobbing, and tears cutting through the dirt on her face. I thought about everything.

It made me furious.

My hand clenched around the handle of the pistol I had been flailing around.

"Which one was it?!" I yelled, shaking as I backed towards the door.

"Kyle just leave it!" Wendy begged as she threw up her arm and turned away from me, walking down the squalid room and into the gloom.

I gave up, I would take this on myself. Yanking the door open I brandished the pistol like it could kill every Nazi on Earth with a pull of the trigger but when I opened the door someone fell forward and onto the floor at my feet.

That person was someone I once knew.

That was Stanley Marsh, a German man who I used to work with. Not only work with, but live next door to. Not only live next door to, but developed a friendship with.

"Stan," I breathed, lowering the pistol.

"Kyle," He replied, scrambling to his feet and hugging me tightly.

We stood like that for a while, hugging. I mean I guess I knew he had been coming from the paper he had left but he had no idea that I was here. I could have been dead for all he knew.

"What- what are you?" I stumbled over the words, clocking on to the five other people stood in the doorway, "Who are these people?"

Stan released me and a tall, Germanic man stepped into the cabin.

"We're here to help, this is no joke. We're here to release you and to start a revolt," Taking a bag from a shabby looking man with stubble who was situated behind him he threw it on the ground and a multitude of guns spilled from it, "My name is Gregory. This is Stanley, Christophe, Jennifer, Clyde and Tweek, we're here to help you."

I watched at Stan held out the guns and people began to take them, diligently as they stared at the weapons that had killed their friends.

Wendy came back towards me, her top pinned at the shoulder and her hair flattened. She looked from me to the newcomers, I nodded to her to tell her that it was okay and she crept forward.

She looked at Stanley, holding out a gun to her whilst looking at the ground. Reaching out, she curled her fingers around the handle, grazing Stan's fingers as she took it from him.

"How do you propose we get out of here without being shot?" I asked, well I say asked, I bit.

The man they called Christophe strode towards me, in a split second he had withdrawn a chipped and dirt smeared shovel and pinned me against the wall, the shovel braced against my neck and my hands thrown up in protest.

"We don't propose anything but you're definitely going to die here so you may as well try and escape," His blunt words took away every thought in my extensive brain.

"Ha...haha..come on Mole," Gregory laughed anxiously as he pulled on the sinister man's shoulder and he withdrew, thankfully. "Lets just calm down,"

Suddenly Wendy leapt towards Gregory, clutching his hands and thrusting her head into his chest.

"Thank you, thank you so much," She wasn't crying but I could tell she was grateful.

I wanted to be grateful too and I was, I just didn't trust them, I couldn't trust a bunch of fucking German's barging in and telling me everything was going to be okay..

Stan looked towards Gregory with a degree of venom in his eyes.

"Why don't you tell them the plan Greg," Stan bit, handing out a couple more pistols and quickly directing people how to use them, but his eyes never left Wendy.

I moved foreward into the circle of the elite 'heroes.'

"Ah yes," He stepped foreward, his hand still placed delicately on my friends waist. "Me, Jenny, Tweek, you guys and good old Chris here are going to get the fuck out of this place and take back what is ours with the help of delightful Clyde, who claims he knows a fine and dandy way to escape from here undetected."

With a flash of pearly white teeth, Gregory turned on his heel and ushered Clyde from the room like a dog that knew the way. Wendy was on his arm.

It seemed that was the signal to follow them.

I watched as they began to file out, sullen faces, gaunt but filled with the hope of a better life. I watched them walk towards certain death, like a line of ants walking towards a boy with a magnifying glass, just with the hope that maybe one would get past.

"I didn't forget you Kyle," Stan assured me as he walked past, a fleeting glance was gifted to me and then his eyes flickered back to Wendy, "It was just hard."

I faltered, letting him walk ahead of me, resisting the urge to scream at him, to tell him he thought he had it hard?

However, Stan was risking his life, Stan was putting everything he had on the line for a bunch of 'rats' as Captain-fucking-Cartman had put it so affectionately.

I exited the shack last, trailing along behind the line of crouched figures, clutching their weapons protectively as if they were seasoned soldiers in the midst of the war, I suppose they were really.

That's when the firing started.

A flicker of a scream swept past me and I was splattered with blood, I gaped as the line scattered and I threw myself to the floor.

Bodies dropped the floor in front of me like flies, I recognized one as Nicole, her eyes glazed over and the back of her skull blown out behind her.

There were six or seven Nazi soldiers advancing on us, weapons out, firing. The war had begun.

I panicked and scrambled towards someone, anyone. The person I ended up scrambling towards was Christophe, positioned behind a wall and shotting wildly at our opposition, I didn't even think about the gun clutched in my hand as I ran towards him, my head low.

I flung myself behind him and discovered the boy with fried, blonde, hair twitching violently on the ground amidst the panic. Jenny was also firing her weapon, a snarl plastered over her sharp features.

I inhaled the dusky smell of smoke and stared at the viscous fluid leaking from the bodies that had fallen. Across the street I could see Gregory gallantly defending Wendy as he shot down the street, Stan seemed to be fiddling with his pistol, slamming it against his leg with a frustrated look on his face.

"Lets go, lets go!" The boy with brown hair was shouting, I think his name was Clyde. "We need to go!"

I shook my head, barely hearing him over the sound of the roaring gun fire. I was concerned about Wendy and I was concerned about Stan...Gregory? Not so much.

But as I stared up the street I could see the Nazi's advancing, we had nothing compared to them.

Christophe's gun made a fast paced clicking noise.

"Sheet," He muttered, throwing the weapon to the ground, "Zat's our cue to get zee fuck out of here,"

"No!" I exclaimed defiantly.

Christophe gripped my shirt with a balled up fist and yanked me away, I stumbled along after him, my feet kicking up mud as I was dragged through narrow streets. Tweek and Jenny followed, bent low to the ground; Wendy, Stan and Gregory getting smaller and smaller until we rounded a corner and then they were gone.


	16. McCormick

The door burst open with a terrifying slam and two of my soldiers dragged in a protesting, growling, thrashing, brute of a thing and threw him to the ground at my feet. Landing on his hands, the boy looked up, the young, blonde haired boy looked up at me with angry blue eyes.

"Ah, Kenneth," I dawdled, pacing up and down the room, watching as he tried to hold my eye.

I wondered what the soldiers thought, why they thought he was here, my right hand man.

"Sir," One stepped forward and I stopped abruptly, wondering why one man had decided to interrupt my monotonous pacing.

I turned towards him, my sense of menace making him take two steps backwards, his head staring at the damp floor.

"What?" I barked, pulling him forward, "What are you trying to say whelp?!"

As I gripped the young man's coat, he glanced from me to Kenneth on the floor.

"Tucker, Craig Tucker is dead sir,"

Desperately, I fought the urge to grin. Craig was dispensable, I didn't care about him or his petty life but what I did care about was how Kenneth could b linked to this crime.

"Yes," I lied, "Why do you think I wanted him brought here?!"

I withdrew my luger and pressed it to the center of Kenneth's forehead, I felt it push slightly into his forehead and I knew it was going to leave a mark whether I took it away or pulled the trigger.

"Liar," Kenneth growled.

I pushed it harder into his skull, following it with conviction as he flicked his head to get away.

Upon hearing Kenneth's accusation, two more guns were drawn and the boy was left with three pistols aimed at his head. I laughed.

"I ought to kill you for that," I smirked.

He thrust forward, surprising me and causing me to stumble slightly. I gritted my teeth and pressed down against the resistance.

"Go ahead Cartman! Do it! Kill me!" He yelled, staring at me with a crushing blackness of a defiant soul.

I lowered my gun.

"Now, why, _just why_, would I do that?" I laughed and Kenneth suddenly realized his mistake.

"The longer you take, the longer you give them to find me," He retorted.

Kneeling down on the floor, the boards creaking as I dropped to my knees, I looked at Kenneth's pallid skin.

"Do you really think their coming? Do you really think they'd come for someone who murdered their friends?_ Their family?_"

He held my eye for a while, but then I saw his lip quiver in doubt and slowly his eyes fell to the ground.

"Bind his hands,"

The two men grabbed McCormick's arms and pulled them sharply backwards, he thrashed sharply but all it took to subdue him was a swift kick to the back. He fell forward but was suspended inches from the floor by the men clutching his arms.

I paced idly ahead, silently signaling for the boys to drag my playmate in after me.

They wrapped his wrists with a thick piece of rope, tying it tightly, burning his alabaster skin. I smiled as he grimaced subtly.

"Boys?" Blankly they looked at me with fresh faces, "Why don't you go fetch me some supplies?"

They straightened with maniacal precision, raising their arms in salute.

"Heil Hitler," They assured in unison before turning and marching from the room.

Sargeant Major McCormick's hat had fallen to the ground and now he was heaving with anger, staring up at me through a veil of blonde hair.

"Come on," I snickered, looping my hand under his armpit and hauling him onto his feet.

"Fuck you!" He growled, I should have shut his mouth.

"Do you know what you are?" I asked him as I punched him.

I didn't expect him to reply, blood dripping down the side of his lip as I slammed my fist into his face again but I still gave him the answer.

"You are pathetic, you are spineless, you are scum," Pulverizing his abdomen with the steel toe of my boot I watched as tried to mask his pain. Clutching his stomach and raking in much needed breaths.

I hoisted him to his feet, weakened and easier to move, I lifted him from the ground. Only a few inches but enough that I could use his arms to hang him, like a coat, on a hook in the main room.

"You are a worthless piece of meat, you are martyr and now, you will die for your choice," I carried on my spiel as Kenneth cried out.

Gravity was doing its trick. Slowly, Kenneth's weight was dragging him towards the ground but his arms, pulled backwards on the hook where forcing is joints to pop out of place.

It looked beautifully excruciating.

His eyes were smarting with tears and I watched as his shoulders seemed to slowly bulge as they were pulled in the wrong direction.

Just then, the boys came back, they saluted once again and I didn't return the gesture. Without even a command they left a series of implements on the table beside me. I stared at Kenneth up on the coat hook, beads of sweat on his forehead, he looked deathly in the smoky light of the grimy window.

The two soldiers, their faces blanched, quickly exited the room. Whether it was the man hanging from the hook, the implements I had requested or the look of sadistic glee plastered on my face, something told them I wanted to be alone.

The door shut with a grim echoing click of finality.

Quietly I paced the large room, taking extra care to put all my weight into the steps. From my periphery vision, I could see Kenneth involuntarily spasm each time I thumped to the ground.

Sweeping towards him I unhooked him and left him to plummet to the ground, a tiny, almost non existent, whine-slash-sigh of relief escaped his split lips.

"You're trying so hard Kenneth," I admitted, taking a chair from the table, I pulled him backwards onto it; unwrapping and re-wrapping the rope, I bound him to the chair.

Now I could tower above him, watching him sweat with an expression of agony he was trying painstakingly hard to cover up.

"Give in," I demanded, my fingers browsing the display of things laying on the table, "You already have so many times before,"

I chose two items from the line-up and began to pace around Kenneth's prone figure, his breaths were laboured and filling the empty space of the room. Violently, he shook his head, wincing as he denied my accusation through the pain.

I threw another punch his way, as my fist connected with his eyes his head snapped left. He stayed there for a while, his shoulders heaving as he spat out blood.

I laid my hands on McCormick's shoulders, the hunting knife I had chosen touched the side of his neck and he bristled.

How easily I could end his life.

"I knew from the beginning," I hissed into his ear, "Why do you think I gave you all those job, Kenneth? Why I made you dispose of all those people? Because I knew you hated it,"

I pulled the knife down to McCormick's open palm and slit it horizontally, he clenched at the pain but made no sound. That pissed me off.

So I increased. Using the second weapon, the pinch of tiny crystals I was holding in my hand, I sprinkled them into Kenneth's wound, coating the oozing slash with salt.

"Go fuck yourself Cartman," McCormick muttered through his gritted teeth, his voice barely a whisper through his masked pain.

I mimicked the shape of Kenneth's hand and then squeezed his wounded palm into a fist, forcing the slat to work its way into the wound.

McCormick screamed out, his head snapped back. As the pain subsided, Kenny's scream retreated into a low growl of aggravation. Kenneth's lack of expression was driving me crazy.

I wanted to hear him scream.

I wanted to hear him beg.

Suddenly, the door burst open and a boy rushed in, shakily saluting me.

"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt but a group of the prisoners, they've...they've started something. They have weapons, they have outsiders, we don't know what to do," He babbled.

I paused.

I froze.

I stormed past him, directing orders as I left Kenneth perspiring in his chair.

"Get two men to guard this room, I'll deal with the rest of the vermin,"

I spared Kenneth one last glance, I knew now that he always knew, that he had planned it, he had taken part; whatever I had done to him in the last ten minutes would be nothing compared with what I was planning for the days ahead.


	17. Jennifer

**Kenneth's POV**

My head rolled backwards, staring up at the mottled ceiling with it's dismal, crawling patch of damp. I shuddered , trying to distract myself from the fact that every time I moved there was a shooting pain in my shoulders. I still hadn't managed to move them foreward, they had just been tied in a different position to the excruciating one before.

I could hear shots being fired in the distance, dulled slightly by the thick cabin walls. The only sound coming from inside the cabin was the slow drip of my viscous blood as it dripped lazily onto the floor. The cut Cartman had engraved in my hand was deep, salt coated and stinging.

My hands felt clammy as I flexed them behind my back; I could feel that my forehead was misty with perspiration as I struggled with the rope looped around my wrists, rubbing them raw as I twisted either way.

I stopped, realizing that it was futile. I looked for other ways to escape my imprisonment, a dirty window and the door were my only chances really.

Then, disturbingly, I saw the table next to me. The table that was lined with a multitude of vicious and creative torture devices: A pot of boiling water, a pair of pliers rusty with blood, a glowing orange, red hot poker and a thick whip that I was pretty sure had been mine at one point. Cartman would have liked that, beating me black with my own whip.

My tongue licked out and dabbed at my lip, congealed with thick blood and I could tell my eye was slowly swelling, closing on me.

Pissed, I summoned the energy to attempt to escape again.

Despite the fact there were two guards outside, I was determined to rely on get out. Cartman had shaken me, what if they weren't coming? What if they were just as shitty as the people that had tortured them? What if I was still one of the Nazis to them?

Then again, I guess I was. I guess I always would be.

With a growl I bounced slightly on the chair, trying to release myself.

It didn't matter if they didn't come, I was alone and it seemed like I always would be but that was okay because I always had been and that was just my life. Joining up with the Nazis gave my a sense of being part of something bigger, changing something, meaning _something_ to _someone _and not having to be a fucking martyr all the time.

Attempting to twist around, I realized there was a limited possibility of me getting out this death trap before Cartman returned.

"Argh!" I yelled, pulling against the rope before remembering I was being guarded by two men standing directly outside the room.

There was no way that, with my wrists, forearms and shoulders, attached to the chair I could stand up. I tried it and the chair came with me, sticking to me as I rose with the legs jutting horizontally out from my bent over body.

My attention was turned to the shots being fire outside, I should've been out there, the shots were so loud I could hear them clearly from my position.

With a sly smile, I ran backwards until I collided with the wall. Smashing into it and hearing a deathly crack that knocked the wind from me, I continued, happily watching as a couple legs fractured and fell to the floor.

The fighting outside must have overrode my demolition of the chair because there was no execution that followed the violent murder of the wooden chair.

Yelling out again I bent backwards, this time using force to shatter the frame of the chair. Albeit it didn't make it any easier for me to get away but I did make it easier for me to move about.

I froze at a couple of shots that seemed remarkably close but really they just spurred me on to move faster. I knew I would be painted with bruises but it would be worth it; if I was going to die, I would die fighting, not cornered like some animal.

Suddenly, the door burst open and my arms were still connected to the chair. Fearing the worst I maneuvered myself backwards. Attempting to grab the hunting knife, still wet with my black blood, from the table.

"Kenneth!" A girl's voice that I recognized pierced through my anticipation.

It was Wendy, her face covered with what looked like dirt. She was followed by a blonde haired man who immediately fell to his knees next to me and took a knife from his belt.

Sawing away at the ropes I watched as another dark haired girl came into the room, followed by a man with raven hair. He stood next to Wendy, avoiding her eye and staring at the floor.

"Thanks," I acknowledge the man who was sawing at the ropes as he freed my first arm.

Wendy quickly flocked to me, pressing a gun into my open palm.

"We found your hat in armory, with that dead man and a hell of a lot of blood, it looked like there was a struggle," She informed me.

I noddded. There had been, I wasn't going to leave without a fight and that's exactly what Cartman and his men gave me.

"This is Gregory, Stan and Jenny. They've come to help us, they've come to get us out," She pointed to each induvial member of this resistance and I wondered why there were only four of them. Where was Kyle?

"This is one awful cut you've got my friend," Gregory informed me as he released my second hand.

"Captain Cartman's work," I murmured staring at the gory, salt encrusted wound and hoping I could shoot just as well one handed. I stretched my arms, they felt like they had been pulled off at the shoulders. They ached like led balloons and I rolled them backwards lazily, hoping there was no permanent damage done.

Gregory got to his feet with the help of Wendy.

"Thank you for coming," I assured them.

"Kenneth is it?" I nodded as Stan moved into the fold, "Being German, I was pressured and pressured to join the Nazis and even though I didn't go to war as one, I still have to consider myself a Nazi, otherwise the gestapo would come and blow my fucking head off. I'm sorry that you ended up being here and I know how easy it would be to conform to their way of thinking but you didn't. You tried and that's all any of us can do. If we didn't come to help you, just because you were a Nazi, we'd be just as bad as the people we were fighting."

He ended his speech with an expulsion of air and I could see the way Wendy's eyes softened and she let go of Gregory's hand.

I smiled and decided I liked this guy already.

"Well, we better be going then," Gregory bit, walking towards the door. Suddenly he faltered, staring wide eyed at the table of instruments, "What, is all of this?" He lifted the pliers off the table, playing with the weight of them before dropping it on the table.

It took about ten seconds of me staring at him before he realized he wasn't getting an answer.

He grimaced.

"Where are we going?" I inquired, rubbing the raw skin around my wrists as I jammed the gun into the pocket of my waistcoat.

"To find the others," Wendy said, as if it was perfectly clear, turning back to look at me as Stan ushered her on with his hand resting on her lower back.

"Allons, mes amis," Gregory lilted beautifully.

Jenny, the girl with ashy, dark hair, who hadn't said anything during my rescue opened the door. I followed the band of merry men down the hallway and out into the smoky, crisp spring air, stepping over the blank faces of the two dead men outside. I was right about the noise, I could barely hear anything over the sound of gunfire.

"Shit!" I yelled and no one turned around.

I looked at the make shift soldiers, clutching their tiny pistols as they approached the war zone.

Flickers of Nazi soldiers swept down the alleyways as we searched desperately for the other half of our missing platoon.

We must have been close, I couldn't hear over the sound of demands of orders and firing. It took me back to memories of contempt.

It was so loud that nobody even noticed as Jennifer's skull blew out of the back of her and coated Gregory's perfect, slicked back hair and speckled it red.

The worst part was that no one even cried for her.


	18. Soldiers

** Stanley's POV**

We scattered in four different directions, all making a desperate dive for the ground as the shooting began.

"Get down, get down!" I heard Kenneth shout and I happily obliged.

Diving into the porch of some ramshackle house, I grabbed hold of Wendy's arm and pulled her with me.

She was hysterical, fiddling with her tiny gun and babbling on about the dead girl who she'd only met a couple of hours ago.

"Holy shit!" I cried, searching for the source of the gun fire..

Two Nazi's were advancing on us from up the street, one was a stocky man with a heavy, rigid nose. He was striding up the street, shotting wildly at our four prone figures, barely looking what he was doing as he willfully wasted his ammo.

The other was a slight man with quick, shifty eyes. He stared at his friend, not caring the man was a walking target, he seemed more sly, craftier then his larger friend.

I swept my arm around Wendy's shoulders and pulled her down so we couldn't be seen, pulling away when I saw she was trembling.

I felt ashamed that I wasn't going back out to fight, to help Greg and the Nazi but I was here to rescue, I really didn't think too much about the bloodshed and now it was here; in front of my face.

I shuddered every time someone pulled their trigger, which was every two seconds, so really I was just quaking non stop.

My freezing hands, gripped the freezing wall and pulled myself up so the freezing air smashed into my face.

Gregory's hair had been stained a mild pink and he hadn't had the time just yet to wipe away the pieces of Jenny that were still clinging to his face, a still springing curl escaped from his gelled back hair.

Kenneth had taken to a fighting stance, a grimace of pain of his face as he wrapped his wounder palm around the handle of the gun, he was well tucked into the street, aiming at the men and trying to pick them off quickly and effectively.

Suddenly I saw something fly through the air towards us, whizzing quietly amongst the gun fire. I watched Gregory and Kenneth clock it too as it sailed delicately across the street.

"Run!" Kenny screamed, signaling to us with his arms, "Get out of here,"

He grabbed Gregory's arm and yanked him away, the two of them ran up the street, disappearing to the left and transforming into specks before my eyes.

That's when I realized what it was.

The rushing ball of death coming towards us was grenade and it was set to detonate in about six, five, four, three.

"Fuck," I was already running,

Wendy's wrist encapsulated safely in my hand as I dragged her along. Pulling her to right, leaping over a toppled trash, I heard the clink of the grenade as it hit the ground.

I was frantic, I kicked at a door and the frail wood gave away at once, I threw Wendy to the floor of the hallway and collapsed on top of her as the bomb went off.

The warm wave of shock pulsed through both our bodies, accompanied by a flat, dull, bang, the sound radiated around my ears, it sounded like the world had imploded.

I tried to get up, stumbling forward, grabbing the cold door handle and gripping it hard, it was as if someone had slammed into me, tackled me winded me.

Wendy had her hands over her ears, her amber eyes now squeezed shut and her teeth clenched, she opened her mouth and mumbled something to me. I felt like I was swimming in tar, my vision was sludgy and and I saw Wendy wave a hand in my face, three in total. A high pitch ringing screamed in my ears, I watched as Wendy shook her head like she was trying to dislodge something stuck in there. It was like someone had been screaming at me since the day I was born.

Sounds were beginning to ripple through my hearing as I saw Wendy roll out from under me and stumble to her feet..

I turned to face her back, leaning around her I could see the damage the bomb had done.

Rubble littered the doorstep, a gray cloud of smoke hung languidly in the air, Wendy began to cough.

I didn't look any longer, I saw the two men approaching us. Clearly, since we were in sight, we were the targets. Or perhaps they were just under an oath of annihilate everything.

There was a ping of metal as a bullet struck the door frame. Thank fuck these guys had weak aim.

"Shit," I guided Wendy by the hips so she was inside the room.

I shut the door, shifting a weighty China cabinet against the peeling red paint just as the first boot slammed into it from the other side.

I jumped backwards and Wendy placed her hand on my back anxiously.

"Lets go," I breathed and we moved into the next room of the tiny house, searching for a way out.

There wasn't one.

The only way out was currently being bombarded by two Nazi soldiers.

"Stan," Wendy used my name as if we were old friends.

There was a very real fear in her amber eyes, made worse by the banging on the door. The cabinet was moving inch by inch and soon they would be in.

"Stan we're going to die aren't we?"

I swallowed. It was a very real fear, death. One that was impossible to ignore because it took over every sense.

You felt fear.

You smelt fear.

You saw fear.

You heard fear.

You tasted fear.

You were fear.

I brought her to my chest and we sunk down into the corner of the room, I held her in my arms and she started to cry but I was too afraid to comfort her, too afraid to even stroke her hair.

I used to do that with Bebe when she was hysterical over some stupid thing or another. I would hold her really close and shut off the lights, let her cry into my shoulder and stroke her masses of blonde hair until she either fell asleep or decided she wanted to make love.

The more I thought about it, rigid with fear, the more I realized how pathetic she was.

Here we were, inches away from certain death and Wendy was quietly crying, a couple of solidary tears rolling down her cheeks and I was thinking of Bebe's feverous fits of mania over something as trivial as a bad day at work.

The way she gripped onto my shirt as if she was going to rip it and soaked it through with tears, yelling and screaming and blaming me for nothing.

This is what I was thinking about.

This.

And they were nearly through.

"Are you scared?" Wendy asked me, a strand of her shoulder length hair was stuck to her chapped lips.

She clutched her weapon in shaky, child-like fingers, looking up at me through amber eyes.

I wanted to say something reassuring but I found myself speechless in the warmth of those golden orbs, sparkling with tears.

"Isn't everyone?" I asked.

It wasn't reassuring, but it was me. Attempting to be smart, witty and comforting but just ending up clicheed and a little nauseous.

To my surprise, she shook her head. "I'm not scared, just disappointed. I thought we would get further,"

I touched her face briefly, it was soft, like I'd imagined it would be the first time I saw her.

"But," She continued, sniffing, "I'm realistic...and I think I've been ready to die for a long time,"

There was more thudding now and suddenly Wendy was kissing me.

Her hands had pulled my face onto hers and she pressed her chapped, sun dried, work tired lips onto mine; for a second, I wasn't fear and that was all it took.

I cupped the back of her head with my hand, wrapping my other arm tightly around her body.

She kissed me not like someone ready to die, she kissed me like someone full of life, like they were trying to pass that life onto me.

Suddenly there was a crash, a shattering of glass and Wendy pulled her face away from mine with a smack, her lip shaking and her eyes full of tears.

Softly, I laid a hand on her face.

I found my courage.

"I don't think I'm ready to die just yet,"

I listened to the crunch of heavy boots on glass as they searched the front room, sweeping through furniture in their search for us.

I clutched my gun in my shaking hands and prayed I had better aim than them.

Then, on my hands and knees I poked my head round the corner, blood boiling in my veins. I stuck the nose of the gun out like it was an extra pair of eyes. I lined it up and I took my shot.

My four shots.

The shots that left both men twitching on the ground.

I put my hand out to Wendy and she took it, scrambling to her feet, dust and debris still stuck in her hair.

We made our way into the front room and I used the toe of my loafer to kick the Nazi's guns from their hands.

Wendy stepped lightly through the blood, standing by my side, an inch or two smaller than me.

I checked my weapon, two bullets left.

The man on the floor, moaned in pain, spluttering up black blood.

I had punctured his lung and placed an awkward shot in his thigh, it would take him hours to bleed out.

I stretched out my arm and positioned the gun at the forehead of the bleeding man, his eyes begging for me to put him out of his misery.

My finger lingered over the trigger, very slowly pulling it towards me.

"No," Wendy's hand slammed down on the barrel and I jerked the pistol backwards.

She stared down at the rasping body next to the corpse of his friend, her emotional eyes were apathetic now as she turned away from me and made her way over the blood and crushed glass.

"Leave him," She disappeared into the street.


	19. Nazi

**Didn't spell check this because I'm rebellious. Come at me grammar Nazi's.**

* * *

**Kyle's POV**

"Do you think we're the only ones left?!" Tweek twitched violently, hiding behind me.

I stared at the mass of dead bodies piled high in the street. Fresh corpses that still looked half alive lay on top of each other, most with tiny red holes in their forehead but some with more gruesome, obvious wounds.

"We can't be," I assured him, keeping my weapon up as I searched for oncoming Nazi's.

Christophe picked through the bodies, pocketing stray necklaces and lace handkerchiefs, not that the corpses had much else of value on them.

We could hear distant gunfire as it echoed off the cobbled streets but nothing seemed close enough to warrant a threat.

"Hey!" I strode up to him, not realizing that I was climbing a mound if dead people until I reached the top, "What the fuck are you doing?!"

He turned to look at me, numerous necklaces dangling off the end of the rusty, old shovel.

"Zey're not going to use eet are zey?" He drawled, empathizing his point with his hands.

I felt furious, it took a couple seconds for the anger to finally process it's way into actually acting on the impulse.

I shoved him hard on the shoulders and he toppled over, his ankle folded as he suddenly disappeared over the other side of the mountain.

With a squeak from Tweek I followed him over.

"What gives you the right?!" I screeched, towering over him.

He barely twitched.

"Zey're not for me, salope juive!" He sighed, exasperated.

I allowed him to give me a shove, partly because I wanted to hear his answer but mostly because I knew I wouldn't win in a fight with him.

"What do you mean?" I asked, a little louder to drown out the sound of Clyde throwing up in the street..

"I want people to know," Intently, he stared down at the string of necklaces and pendants on the handle of the his shovel, "I want people to know what they did here. How many lives they threw away,"

Suddenly I had a lot of new found respect for Christophe. I turned around and began to scour the bodies as they started to pale, a cold blue in the freezing light of the sky hitting dawn.

"We need to get out of here," Clyde insisted, turning again to heave up the rest of his stomach lining.

"Gah!" Tweek jumped, his gun shaking in his arms, tiny eyes darting around the empty streets, "Why?! You're making me nervous!"

"Oui, av you somewhere to be?" Mole mumbled, closing a young girls eyes as she lay sprawled on the pile, her long red hair cascading backwards.

The young boy shook his head defiantly, sweeping back his damp, brown hair from his forehead.

"No, I just don't like-"

We heard the explosion and all four of our heads snapped to the left. It was a warm, muted bang that was somehow still loud enough to cause us all to retreat a couple of steps backwards.

"Ah!" Tweek squeaked, jumping backwards in shock, I placed a hand on his back and found that he was shuddering, "What was that?!"

"The others?" I pondered hopefully but Christophe looked at me darkly.

"We didn't av grenades..." Christophe suffocated on the words, one hand tangled in his knotted hair before storming off.

"Maybe we are the only ones left," I pondered the thought. Thinking about Wendy lying in her own blood, trousers around her ankles, used and tortured like an animal.

I shuddered, thinking about Stan too. I doubted that they would have killed him at once, it was much more likely he was still alive, still being beaten with steel toed boots until his skull cracked and all his memories spilled from it like a cracked egg.

I didn't care about Jenny, as horrible as it seemed I just didn't have the time. Gregory wasn't pivotal either and I was really beginning to hope McCormick wasn't around either.

The other's were talking to me but I wasn't really paying any attention, I was staring at the dead bodies. Young girls with blood stained thighs and children with unrecognizable faces.

The sickness of anger was growing in me, my short fuse was burning shorter by the second and very soon it was going to explode.

"Sheet, get down!" Christophe snapped me out of my bubble, he was crouched low to the ground and stalking something like a french panther. "Someone is coming,"

I retreated backwards, hiding in an alley, my back pressed against the wall.

Across from me, in the opposite alley, I saw Clyde. He was in the same position as me except his face was craning around the corner, trying desperately to see who was coming to meet us.

Tweek however, had panicked, like he always did and fallen to the floor on the heap of dead bodies. Trying to act dead was a difficult feat for a healthy, young boy, not to mention the fact his tremors where sending ripples through the rest of the corpses.

I could hear footsteps running towards us, scraping the surface of the cobbled street.

My vision flickered from the anonymous strangers in the street to the flicker of Tweek.

I sighed, darting out with my body low to the ground I dived in next to Tweek causing him to shout in fright. I rammed my hand over him mouth and indicated with my head that he needed to follow me, I didn't add the fact that, if he didn't, we would probably die.

Grabbing his elbow, I helped him in a desperate scramble to his feet but we were too late. Two, long, gray shadows, appeared on the sloping wall of the winding street.

I pushed Tweek away and he skittered into the alley where I was hiding before.

I braced myself, holding my gun tightly as I took to one knee, steadying my hand I watched the shadows lengthen and darken.

The two men who rounded the corner, however, where not who I expected.

Gregory's hair had slowly become more and more disheveled, streaks of dirt lined his face and his orange shirt had transformed darker with patches of sweat.

He sighed with relief and so did I.

"Well, I never thought I'd be glad to see you," Gregory smirked at Christophe who threw his hands up and turned away.

Then, I saw who was behind him.

It wasn't Stan or Wendy or even Jenny, it was Kenneth McCormick with his fucking SS patch still sown into his shirt.

I felt the anger again, I felt he was responsible.

"Did you fuck her?!" I roared, suddenly I was next to him; my arm was crushing into his neck as I pushed him up against the brick wall, my other hand clutched the handle of the gun that was rammed into the soft skin of his jaw,. My finger grazed the trigger. "You and Cartman and all you other fucking Nazi scum!"

I drew the weapon down in a long arc and knocked McCormick to his knees, blood spouting from the deep cut in his eyebrow.

"What the- KYLE!" He raised an arm protectively over his face.

"Did you know?!" I was crying now, screaming hoarsely over the sound of Gregory and Christophe approaching me. I whipped round, warding them off with the threat of a bullet between their eyes.

I kicked him in the stomach and Kenny folded, moaning in mild pain. I knew he was capable of fighting back, so why wasn't he? It made me more accusing, more suspicious.

"I brought her back!" He insisted, turning onto his back to stare at me with dark, somber, eyes.

I placed the pistol to his forehead, my hand shaking as I held to other back to warn the rest of them not to approach me.

"So you knew," I cried out, I wanted to blame someone and the person with a swastika on their coat seemed an easy target.

"I found them," He growled against the cold bite of the gun, "I stopped it before anything happened, I never hurt her, I was trying to help her,"

My grip on the gun slack and suddenly Gregory had his arms around me, pinning the weapon to my side. Christophe took the gun from me and Gregory spun me to the ground.

I put out my hands out to stop the fall, looking back at Kenneth, who had now gotten to his feet, a shoe print on his white shirt.

"If you don't believe me Kyle," He attempt to convince me, "Just remember whose pistol it was that you had pressed to my head,"

My eyes fell to the floor, ashamed.

Then, to my shock, awe and humiliation he offered me his hand and pulled me to my feet.

"You," There was a new voice, Clyde, "I recognise you! You...you let me go..."

I was confused, this sudden meeting was news to me but anything to take my mind off of my recent humiliation was okay with me.

"I wasn't going to kill you," Kenneth took a step towards Clyde and Clyde inched closer to McCormick, "I'm not like that,"

A brief smile that took years off of Clyde's face, shaped his cheek bones and warmed his complexion, illuminated the young boy's features.

"Does that mean...is Craig okay?!"

All it took was for Kenneth to lower his head an inch and Clyde retreated. His face retracted into a look of cold, excruciating pain and unimaginable loss, his eyes seemed to sink into their sockets and although I was sure he wanted to cry, there was nothing to suggest Clyde was anything but apathetic at the telepathic news.


End file.
